


Bed of Roses

by JesWithOneEss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter - Freeform, Prompt Fic, heron, romione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesWithOneEss/pseuds/JesWithOneEss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione never kissed Ron during the Final Battle. Ron never voiced his true feelings. Then she was gone and he moved on. But Hermione’s back and Ron has a second chance to get it right without causing collateral damage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Made My Bed

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story came from a reader, evilelmo666, who presented me with lyrics from Bon Jovi’s song, Bed of Roses and I loved the concept. Here are some of the lyrics that stood out to me:
> 
> Now as you close your eyes  
> Know I'll be thinking about you  
> While my mistress she calls me to stand in her spotlight again  
> Tonight I won't be alone  
> But you know that don't mean I'm not lonely  
> I've got nothing to prove for it's you that I'd die to defend
> 
> I wanna lay you down in a bed of roses  
> For tonight I'll sleep on a bed of nails  
> I wanna be just as close as your Holy Ghost is  
> And lay you down on a bed of roses
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter

**Bed of Roses**

Chapter 1: I Made My Bed

This was what it feels like to live inside of your own horrible mistake: The evidence of my stupidity and carelessness being thrown in my face on a daily basis. Whether I’m at work or at home I’m being reminded of it, of how screwed up I am. And it’s all my fault, how my life has turned out. Well, alright, I don’t have a terrible life. At least I didn’t think so until she finally returned. I could say that I had no choice. That she rejected me because she was the one who left, then came back assuming things would be the same; that I would be the same.

But by then it was already too late. I had changed, but only because I lost her. I had lost her when I never even had her. How the fuck is that even possible? I should’ve let my feelings known; should’ve acted on the obvious tension that was so intense between us, but I was too bloody scared to risk my heart, and then she was gone and I had to let her go. I had to, but I didn’t, not actually. No matter how hard I try it’s impossible for my heart not to race when I see her now. After a whole year of her absence, only receiving an owl once a month to maintain our friendship, I now get to see her every day, in the corridors of the Ministry, when we all get together with Harry and Ginny and the rest of our Hogwarts friends, at the Burrow where she visits Mum and Dad who invite her to every birthday and… she’s just always _there_ … all the time, and it’s doing my head in. When I hear her talk, laugh… even when she sodding _blinks_ I want to simultaneously smile until my face breaks and stab myself in the eye with a damn fork. And all of this because of my heart and its stupid feelings; it doesn’t know it’s not supposed to react to her. It doesn’t know that I’m supposed to have those heart skipping moments with another, because she is unattainable… because that is how she wants it. I have to remind myself that she doesn’t want me and if she wouldn’t have left, would she? She wouldn’t’ve been gone so bleeding _long_ if she felt anything for me… would she?

 And that’s fine because I have someone who loves me… who wants to love me. Does it matter that I don’t love this other person? If you ask her she’d tell you that I do, and to not be silly. And why would she think that? Well, maybe it was when I decided that moving in together after only six months of going together was a brilliant idea… yeah, that might’ve been it. I may have even agreed when she said she loved me, and when she asked if I loved her back I may have said yes, but I know that I have never said those three words out loud to her, nor has she ever asked me to. I wonder why she would let me get away with not returning the one phrase that every bird wants to hear? And does she have any idea of my true feelings? That I’m in love with someone else? Maybe she does and hopes that I’d get over it and learn to love her. Or maybe I’m the one hoping that in time I could accept what this perfectly lovely girl is offering me and learn to love her… and the thought makes me sick to my stomach. But the thought of hurting her makes me feel even worse, like a retched human being. I think on some level I want to prove to myself that I didn’t just get with her to fill a void that the person I really love probably doesn’t even realize _she_ was supposed to fill.

Before I knew what was happening she was sleeping over my flat, had a drawer with her frilly nighties filling it, and then another; her girly things in the bathroom. Everywhere I turned I could smell her; that smell of lavender perfume, and lotions, and fucking shampoo. If her name had been Putrid I shudder to think what would be filling my nostrils every day. But who doesn’t love the smell of lavender, right? Even in excess it’s a lovely odor, relaxing even… And she’s so sweet, and nice, and loving, and treats me like I’m a king, which I have to admit feels damn good, but more often than not I feel like a twat because even though we have a great relationship, Lavender and I, the love that I have for her – And I realize I _do_ love her on some level or else I wouldn’t be with her – it will never to the degree of what I feel for Hermione. 


	2. Bedside Manners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter

**Bed of Roses**

Chapter 2: Bedside Manners

Being on the outside of a relationship that you’d hoped to someday be a part of hurts more than I thought it ever could. I mean, I knew when I left the way I did that he would be confused at first and move on because that is what I told him to do. I just didn’t think he would do it so quickly. And certainly not with _her_. Not that I have anything against Lavender… anymore. But of all the witches, why did he have to get on with her? Again? While we were at Hogwarts he couldn’t stand her (although his hands and lips would argue otherwise), and she hated him for breaking her heart. Then there was that whole year we were on the run, us living in a tent together and he never spoke of her. Not once.

And during the battle, when we saw her being attacked by Greyback, I acted instinctively, saving her life. And afterwards, when everything had settled, and the smoke cleared, I had a conversation with Lavender, just the one, and it was nice and honest and devoid of any pettiness and anger.

“I don’t hate him, you know,” she had said. “Quite the opposite, really.”

We were in St. Mungos, her lying in a bed and me sitting in a chair by her side, trying my best not to stare at the bandages that overlapped diagonally across her face and neck; only one eye was visible, but barely so as the skin around it was still bruised and swollen.

“That’s good,” I had said simply because what else can I say? She was no longer the silly, blonde haired, simple minded girl who had giggled and bounced around as if not having a care in the world. No, she had fought right along side the rest of us, risking her life just as bravely as anyone else out there, and had survived… because of me. And I felt obligated to be there when she asked to see me the day after the battle, to thank me. I didn’t want to; my heart and mind was on Ron and his family who had just lost Fred, and Harry who we had all thought was dead. My body was weak and my brain exhausted from having to think and react to everything just right. I hadn’t slept for so long as the night before only brought gruesome nightmares and sheets soaked with perspiration as I tossed and turned in my bed. But I came and as we spoke of the battle and of those we lost and those who survived, and I found myself actually liking her. It was easy to speak with her when she wasn’t carrying on flipping her hair around and acting like air-head. In fact, after just a few minutes of speaking with her I suspected that her previous behavior was just an act, a way for her to give and receive attention. And that fact saddened me even more as I looked at her pained expression under so many cuts and bruises. Suddenly her voice became quiet when she spoke next, as if she had to ask, but didn’t really want to know the answer to her question.

“Do you love him?”

Her question caught me off guard. Not because of my exhausted state, but because I had no idea why she even cared after all this time. And also because I had asked myself that same question for years, but ignored it as soon as it entered my mind, not wanting to deal with the feelings that stirred inside of me, for the sake of our friendship and the mission that we both had thrown ourselves into.

“Do I… Well, yes of course,” I replied, not having to ask to whom she was referring to. “Ron is my best friend. Had been for years. How can I not?”

She stared at me through her one swollen eye and gave a small nod; whether it was for my sake or as confirmation of another question inside her head, I didn’t know. Then she spoke again, her voice sweet and wistful.

“I never stopped.”

“Oh… alright.”

And then I was stumped, speechless as to how to proceed because she had closed her eyes, her split lip a thin line in what I assumed was supposed to be a smile. It was a sad one and my heart clenched at the thought of her thinking of him for so long after the fact. And I thought it was just a silly crush; that she only wanted to date the friend of the Chose One. No other feelings were supposed to be involved besides physical attraction and teenage hormones.

She wasn’t supposed to have fallen in love.

“Did he ever speak of me?” she asked and I stuttered because the truth would only make her miserable and a lie would give her false hope.

“We were… busy… you know, trying to stay alive and all of that,” I replied and cleared my throat awkwardly. “But I’m sure he thought of you. I’m sure he’s sorry about how things had ended.”

I hadn’t planned on saying that, but I did and she smiled again. And the urge to run away was so intense that my legs started to shake the longer I sat there.

“I thought you two…you know-” Her hand, the one that wasn’t wrapped in a cast, gestured feebly and I knew what she meant. The truth was that I had wanted something to happen between us, and it almost did, during the battle. I thought I saw something in his eyes and his face was so close, and I could just _feel_ that he wanted something more… but there was an explosion nearby and Harry was with us and it was just so… wrong; bad timing. And then Fred died, and Harry died then came back, and we fought, and survived… but the moment hadn’t shown itself again. Not in the space of one day, when there was so much else going on…

“No, we didn’t. I mean, we haven’t ever- you know.” I bit my lip and suppressed a pathetic sigh. The emotions then were overwhelming me, pressing on my chest and inside my head and I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Not just the hospital, but out of the magical world. Away from all the heart ache and lost loves, and girls declaring their love for the boy I wasn’t even sure what my feelings were for… I needed to get away from all of it because being here would only hurt me more and in turn I would be useless to anyone else. I needed my own family… at least for a little while.

I rarely ever make hasty decisions; my mind just doesn’t work that way. I plan everything, months in advance if possible, and leave no room for error, not wanting to overlook one tiny detail. But this is a different time now, a different world. Voldemort was defeated and I needed something else to occupy my mind. Ron was in mourning and as much as I wanted to be there for him I couldn’t. Not while all I wanted were selfish: for him to love me and finally kiss me and tell me he’s always wanted me. But I couldn’t have those things; at least I didn’t think so at the time.

So I stood, rather abruptly, and with my head full of last minute plans and decisions I shifted my feet and tried unsuccessfully to smile at Lavender who was watching me curiously.

“I’m sorry. I – I need to go,” I stuttered and tucked my hair behind my ears, still unable to look away from all those bandages…

“Okay,” Lavender said, her voice sounding small and tired.

“I’ll have Ron come and see you. I’m sure…” and I realized too late what I had just said, but that I also had to continue talking because her face was now as bright as it could be under the circumstances and my pause was going on for too long. “I’m sure he would lo- like to see you.”

“Thanks. I’d love that,” she said and gave me my reprieve as her eyes closed again. “Thank you, Hermione. So much”

I had just nodded then, said my good-bye and left the hospital feeling uneasy, queasy and confused. However, there was one thing for sure: Lavender still loved Ron and I didn’t know why. And now I was going to send him to her, with her looking vulnerable and sounding so mature and level headed. And I tried not to believe that Ron would actually fall for her again… not really. He didn’t the first time around, not in the way that counted. Not in the way she still felt for him at this point.

No, certainly not.

XXXXX


	3. Into My Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.

**Bed of Roses**

Chapter 3: Into My Bed

The Healers at St. Mungos are truly amazing, fixing me right up. Most of my injuries were because of Greyback’s werewolf claws and not his teeth, thank goodness, so I was out of hospital the next day. I had scarring all down my legs and back. But there was one scar that ran along the right side of my face from temple to chin. It was truly ugly. I hated it. For a long time I resented it and what that werewolf did to me. And knowing that Hermione was the one to save my life… Oh, I saw the irony. I dated Ron, who she clearly always fancied, and there she goes saving me from a damn werewolf, right? No, the irony was not lost on me whatsoever. I’m guessing not on her, either, after that awkward conversation we had in the hospital room. And I thanked her because that is the proper thing to do, when one saves your life, isn’t it? I mean, I’m honestly very grateful, of course. And I suppose she isn’t all bad. Awfully brave, that girl. I mean, she did help save the wizarding world alongside Harry and Ron…

But even after all this time being away from it all she is still as uptight as ever. I don’t think I will ever understand Hermione Granger.

Anyway, Ron never came to see me that day. Or the day after that. Did I expect him to? Not really. Oh, I knew Hermione gave him my message; she’s decent that way. No, while it was kind of her to offer, although surprisingly so, I figured he was going through a lot at that point, especially with Fred’s death. Oh Merlin, that was such a sad funeral. Even with the fireworks George insisted Fred would want and the stories those closest to him shared (most of them involving jokes) it was a dreadful day at the Burrow. And such a depressing reason to finally visit Ron’s home, as well.

I kept my distance at first, not sure how to approach him. He was so quiet and every time I looked at him expecting him to break down, he didn’t. And it all felt all too familiar…

Hermione and Harry never left his side, so there was that as well. Hermione stood by his side looking worried, staring at Ron like he was going to explode any second, while Harry kept patting his back awkwardly. And then there were the rest of the Weasleys. I said my condolences to his parents, who I could tell knew of me by their nods and smiles when I said my name. I told Ginny I was sorry for her loss, but she only glared at me. I didn’t hold it against her. She was angry and sad and well, we never did get along. I’m not a timid girl by any means, but that girl scares the magic out me. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.

Normally I wouldn’t care who was around, but this was a delicate situation. You can’t just walk up to someone you used to fancy at their relative’s funeral and try to start something up. I’m not that daft. Besides, what was I supposed to say? “Sorry your brother died. Did you miss me?” And then there is the issue of my scarred and ugly face.  No, I couldn’t, so I kept my distance.

I hung around and as more people started to leave and Harry and Hermione had gone inside, I saw Ron walking off by himself, slowly shuffling his feet in the grass toward the pond. I gathered my nerves and threw my pride away as I hurried to catch up because I couldn’t leave without at least speaking to him just once.

I knew that I still had feelings for him. Was it love? I’m wasnt sure then. I know I told Hermione that I did, but the truth is that I only wanted to see her reaction, to see if she loved him. I saw right away that she did. She denied it, but it was written all over her face. I had thought a lot about Ron during that last year at Hogwarts. I worried about him constantly, if he was hurt or dead. The idea that something might have happened to him made my head spin. And that feeling alone is what fueled my desire to want to see him and remember how great he was. Oh, I’d already forgiven him for acting like a silly boy while we were “dating”. He wasn’t ready for a relationship then, I know that now. And in his absence I had time to think of him and imagine what it would be like to have another chance…

Then I got attacked during the battle and while I was in that hospital bed with nothing but time to feel sorry for myself, after speaking to Hermione and thanking her for saving my life, I found out that my parents were killed. Not at Hogwarts, but at their home. The Death Eaters used the battle as an excuse, a perfect opportunity, to go around killing muggles, half-bloods and even purebloods if they showed even the slightest hint of a going against You-Know-Who.

I was numb for days after. I couldn’t shed a tear for them and I was so terrified for what that meant. I didn’t think I could feel again, but still I thought of Ron. So I decided to go to Fred’s funeral, just a day after my own mum and dad’s, which no one knew about, only close family and friends. Seeing them lowered into the ground with my Uncle Andrew’s hand clasped in mine was completely heart breaking. I was angry and miserable, and I tried to cry, but still nothing.

I had followed Ron to the edge of the pond, and I thought he knew I was there so I cleared my throat and said, “I’m sorry, did you want to be alone?”

Ron turned around quickly, blinking at me. I knew right away I had interrupted something private. He was staring at my face, at my scar and I touched it self-consciously. If I could cover it up I would, but no amount of glamour charms or make-up would cover it. I was cursed for life with this hideous reminder of that day…

“Lav- sorry, I mean…” His voice was really scratchy, and he didn’t bother finishing his sentence.

“Oh, no, I’m… sorry. I’ll just… go,” I said quietly and took a deep breath because the lump that I thought was going to be permanently lodged in my throat forever was suddenly climbing up into my mouth. I turned to leave, feeling embarrassed for even thinking that I could have a conversation with him, at a time like this.

“Sorry I didn’t come see you,” he said and I turned back around _,_ giving him a smile and shaking my head.

“Don’t worry about it. I understand. It was Hermione’s idea anyway,” I shrugged.

“Yeah, Hermione.”

That was all he said before sitting right there in the grass with his knees bent and staring down at his shoes, looking even more miserable. I debated whether or not to question him more about Hermione since his tone edged on irritable when he said her name, but then there was also the reason why we were all there to begin with: Fred’s funeral. So he was probably just on about that, right?

“Are you alright?” I moved closer and he looked up at me, clearly annoyed, and this time directed towards me. I tried again. “Well, obviously you’re not, but… do you want to talk? I’m so sorry about… Fred… Where’s Hermione? And Harry?”

So I’m not very tactful, either.

“I dunno. I told them to bugger off,” Ron said angrily and looked away. “I couldn’t take the looks, waiting for me to fucking lose it any second.” Then he pulled up a handful of grass and threw it to the side, glaring down at the ground. He did it again and when I spoke he looked startled that I was still there.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry and that I- I know what you’re going through.”

“You lost a brother? I thought you were an only child,” he said looking thoroughly confused.

I hadn’t planned on telling him, not that day. But then I sat down next to him on the dirty grass in my silk black skirt and navy colored blouse and looked at him, and all I wanted to do was unburden myself of this weight, and see if I can feel again.

“My parents, they were… murdered. Death Eaters,” I managed to choke out because that damn lump was there again and I wondered why it was so eager to come out now. :]”They came to my house during the battle. Loads of them were going around on killing sprees that night… and they killed them. My mum, she fought and my dad, too. But it was all for nothing.” I felt my lip quiver when I looked at Ron’s shocked face, so close that I could see where the sun from the day had reddened his cheeks.

“Fucking hell,” he said and looked away, shaking his head. “Shit, I’m sorry, Lavender.”

“Yeah,” I said and suddenly I was crying, just like that. Somehow saying it out loud broke something in me, and at Ron’s brother’s funeral no less, where we were supposed to be grieving him and instead I’m blubbering on about my own loss as well as his. I felt his hand pat my shoulder as I continued to cry into my hands. A rag was thrust into my face and I grabbed it, swiping at my eyes and nose quickly.Then Ron cleared his throat awkwardly and his hand was gone from my shoulder and I sobered instantly, feeling horrible and needing this moment to be over.

“Oh, no. No,” I had muttered and stumbled to my feet, running my fingers through my hair. He jumped to his feet in front of me, flustered and uncomfortable. “That’s not why I came to talk to you. I don’t know why I told you that. I didn’t mean…”

I thought of my mum and dad again and a new wave of tears came and then he hugged me, and I welcomed it because that is all I’ve wanted since thinking of him all that year, to feel him again and hoping it would be different. Not this kind of different, but I would take what I got. He was always too kind for his own good. I know I took advantage of that in the past and I regretted it so very much. I was afraid I was doing it again.

“It’s okay,” he said and then pulled me away from him and grabbed his hair in his hands, blowing out a long breath. “Blimey.”

“I’ve made everything worse, haven’t I?” I asked as I dabbed at my eyes.

“What’s happened?”

I turned and saw Hermione standing there looking between us, frowning. She saw us hugging, that was obvious. I looked at Ron and he was looking at her with so much guilt and sadness.

“I’ll just go,” I said and gave Ron one last hug and whispered a thank you in his ear before letting go. He only nodded and then I kissed his cheek and walked past Hermione on my way back to the house. We exchanged polite smiles, but I could tell she disapproved, her words in that hospital room not really meaning much as the look in her eyes said it all. She really loved him.

But that was the day before she left to find her parents in Australia. It turned out I was wrong: Ron and Hermione weren’t together then. I had assumed that was the case, but for all their looks and obvious tension I guess there wasn’t enough there to make it official. Go figure…

After Fred’s funeral I had sent Ron an owl apologizing for making such a terrible day even worse. Imagine my surprise when he wrote back again saying it was okay and that if I wanted to owl him again he would accept. He felt badly for me, with my attack and losing my parents. I didn’t mind because although I felt like he pitied me, I needed and wanted the comfort. We bonded over our losses. And it was through our owls that we started a friendship that wasn’t there before sixth year, or ever really. It was also through these owls that he told me about Hermione leaving and not having a desire to come back. He said they kept in touch and it was fine and they were friends, but of course he missed her… as a friend. His words, not mine.

But I could tell be missed her for other reasons. The fact was Hermione was not there. She _chose_ to leave. And I guess on some level I knew he didn’t mind having me there because she wasn’t. We met several times that summer, usually for lunch in Diagon Alley where we worked with George at the joke shop. I was interning at St. Mungos, learning to become a Healer and would apparate over to meet with him. We made each other laugh and we talked, a lot. I always held strong feelings for Ron and for that I will never be ashamed, nor had I ever denied them. Unlike Hermione who ran away from her feelings, I chose to explore mine, and his. And Ron knew how I felt. I told him as much and still he replied to my owls and continued to see me. He even invited me to Harry’s birthday party, which I declined. (Harry hadn’t taken to me being around Ron very well. I assumed that was Ginny’s influence.)

And I’m not going to lie and say it was all innocent. I knew what I was doing. I wanted him back and I was going for it. I encouraged him to join Auror training with Harry when he was debating on whether or not to stay with George and gthe shop. According to Ron, Hermione was still sending him owls now and then and thought it “prudent” that he help his brother.

“You’ve already helped him this summer. Let the rest of your family take over. You can’t do everything,” I told him one day at lunch at The Leaky Cauldron. It was late in August and training was to start in a month. I wanted him to join Harry because I truly believed it was what he needed, to get away from all of this and do something for himself, for once. Besides, I had told him, he would look really fit in those Auror robes. I was pleased to have made him blush with that.

It wasn’t until the day before training was to start that anything happened between us. Hermione’s letters were lessening, only down to one every other week and Ron and I were spending more and more time together. And when I kissed him that night he was reluctant at first, but when I tried again he didn’t resist. Then he was gone for three months without any contact since that was the case with training. During those three months I missed him like mad. When he returned we became closer and finally I got what I wanted. Ron was mine again. And I vowed this time I wouldn’t let anyone or anything, myself included, muck this up.

Ron was like another person after the battle, but then again so was I, going through what we did. But once we agreed to live together six months after training he had changed in a totally different way. He was even less affectionate, jumpy and moody. We were doing so well until Hermione had sent an owl that June, conveniently right after I packed up and moved in. She announced that she was returning to the wizarding world. After over a year of living with her parents and studying at some muggle university in London, she wanted to come back, get a job at the Ministry, where Ron worked every day. Ron was confused about how to feel, but that confusion only showed me exactly how he felt: He was still in love with her. And when we were all at the Burrow, and she showed up looking tanned and curly and so… sweet, I knew with just one glance: Hermione was still in love with Ron.

And everything that I had worked for, and put my heart on the line for, was going to go to shit if I didn’t do something about it.

XXXXXX

A/N: Well, that was not easy. Lavender really dislikes Hermione and that alone was a huge challenge for me. Anyway, I hope this clears some things up about how Ron and Lavender got together. I also hope that it wasn’t too painful to read. But as promised, no R/L lemons! Just writing that they had kissed in passing was more than enough I think.

And if you decide to keep reading please note that Ron and Hermione will have their reunion coming up next!


	4. The Wrong Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be told from Ron's POV. Enjoy!  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Bed of Roses**

Chapter 4: The Wrong Bed

Up until this point I had gotten used to not having Hermione around; her letters that reeked of friendship were stuffed into a shoebox behind my stash of chocolate frogs, in my closet, under the floorboard… you get the idea. I’m not proud of the way I handled her being gone, but I couldn’t let go of her, of her words confused, angered and made me love her all at once. Before Lavender came to live with me I’d sit on the floor with a bottle of firewhiskey and read through them, trying my hardest to read between the lines, to figure out the real reason why she left and if she was trying to tell me something…

_We can both use this time to breathe, think clearly; get our heads on straight without distraction. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. I made the right decision, didn’t I?…_

At the time the only thing I understood was _: I’ve left, I’m not coming back. Don’t wait for me. It was over before it started. You were a fool. And you don’t deserve me because you’re weak._

But now I know she was asking in her own way for permission, for reprieve from guilt over leaving not only the magical world, but me. _Me._ And so I gave her what I thought she wanted, a pardon for breaking my heart because had I not my true feelings would’ve been revealed; and I couldn’t have that, could I? I know, I’m an idiot, I know that… now.

So it’s been a few months since she’s been back and already, after being away from our world for so long and just coming back into the thick of it, she’s doing brilliant working for the Law Department of the Ministry. As if I ever doubted that she would. She’s bloody brilliant. And fuck me, did she get beautiful...

Lavender had been in a right state ever since we first received word from Hermione that she was accepted at the Ministry for a job in Law enforcement and that she would be returning for good. Lavender had told me how badly she felt about how she and Hermione got on during sixth year, and while I’m inclined to believe her as she had changed quite a bit since then, I can spot jealousy a mile away, not being immune to it myself.

And as I sat waiting with Harry and Ginny across from us talking excitedly about gods knew what, and Lavender pressed up against my side, and my mum bustling about in the kitchen, I felt even more like a selfish prick for having mixed feelings about the whole thing. I didn’t know how I was going to react when I finally saw her, and I didn’t want to hurt Lavender’s feelings if I somehow, inadvertently, let my true feelings show. I had no fucking clue what was going to happen.

 “Ron, dear, can you help me with something in the kitchen for a moment?”

My mum had poked her head into the living room and was giving me a look that said to hurry up, or else. I was more than glad for the distraction, but that look…

“I’ll be right back, yeah?”                                                                                                            

I turned around and grinned down at Lavender who gave me a smile that lit up her face. Even with those nasty scars she still really was quite striking. I’m _lucky to have her, really I am._ She grabbed my hand and kissed it, telling me not to be gone long. I cleared my throat and told her I wouldn’t, then kissed her hand back quickly, letting it drop to her lap. It wasn’t that I didn’t mind the affection – It was one of the reasons why I adored her – I just didn’t like it in front of the two prats sitting in the room with us because I knew I’d have the mickey taken out of me later. As I passed Ginny and Harry I heard her snort and Harry shushed her. I discreetly pointed my rudest finger in her face as a response.

“What did you need, mum?” I asked when I entered the kitchen. The table was set in our finest, albeit mismatched, dishes and Hermione favorite colors, green and red, were hanging by way of paper streamers over the whole thing. “It looks like Christmas in here.”

“Yes, well,” Mum said and raised her brows, “She does like those colors and besides she missed Christmas at the Burrow didn’t she? She’ll feel caught up!” She smiled brightly at me then and squeezed my arm on her way to the stove.

“Yeah,” I said as I rubbed my neck, something that I’ve been meaning to try and stop since everyone and their owl could tell I’m nervous from a mile away. “No one should miss Christmas at the Burrow.”

I leaned up against the counter and watched her set a wooden spoon to stir a pot of homemade applesauce with cinnamon, Hermione’s favorite. I smiled a little and looked away when my mum gave me a knowing look. Fuck.

“I didn’t really need you help, Ron,” she said and wiped her hands on her apron.

“I reckoned as much,” I said with a sigh. “Look, if this is about Hermione you don’t-“

“Let me just say one thing and I’ll leave the matter alone, alright?”

I looked into her stern eyes and nodded once, knowing it was best to let her get it out and over with. This wasn’t the first time Mum had brought up the subject of Hermione. If anyone thought she favored Harry the most then they should sit in on those conversations, because according to Mum rainbows shoot out of Hermione’s arse and I was a damn fool to let her go. I mean, I agree, but fucking hell…

“Mum please, I can’t do this right now! Lavender is in the next room for fuck’s sake!”

I felt a small amount of satisfaction when she winced at my swearing, but decided not to scold me. Instead she took a deep breath and said through clenched teeth, “I just wanted to make sure that you were alright with Hermione coming back. I know how heartbroken you were when she left…”

“Mum, that was ages ago,” I said and rolled my eyes. “I’m over it now. I’ve got Lav and everything’s… fine. It’s fine. I don’t need my _mum_ telling me about my bloody love life, alright?”

I wanted desperately to get out of that damn kitchen because my ears were getting as hot as the stove and my hands twitched at my sides, resisting the urge to rub and scratch my neck.

“Look,” she said, her voice sounding hurt. I was about to apologize when she dropped her voice to a whisper, “I care about you and I care about that girl who is about to enter my home, nervous about what she’s walking into. Yes, she has been owling me and… she told me not to say anything, but she’s mostly nervous about seeing _you_ , and I know why. So I telling you now that if you’re planning on acting on these feelings, you had better make things right first, otherwise let her be. Let her be happy.”

“But… that’s all I ever wanted!” I hissed at her with my fists clenched. “What do you think I’ve been doing?! Sending her love letters? Do you think she’s been sending any me any? No... And I haven’t because I. Let. Her. Go. I don’t need this rubbish, mum. I’m sorry, but this is bollocks.”

She looked taken aback, but still fierce, breathing through her nose and trying to speak in a normal tone, and failing.

“You are my youngest boy and I cannot – I will not – stand idly by and watch you mess about with two girls’ heads!”

“I’m not!”

“You still have feelings for her, I know you do, Ron,” she said more softly and I had to look away because she was right, like always. I guess I really am that transparent. Fuck. “I’m only telling you to… suppress them. I don’t want you mooning over her giving her false hope, when you are already taken.”

“Oh, so this is really about Hermione’s feelings, and not mine, is that it?”

“No, I-”

“I can’t believe we’re even-”

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting?”

My head spun around so fast that my body had no choice but to follow and my knee hit the chair opposite...

“Bloody fuck!”

“Ronald!” My mum hissed, finally scolding me since there was another person present, and shuffled toward the new visitor, giving her a hug and exclaiming how glad she was to see her...

Hermione.

“Hullo,” she said to me when our eyes locked, and I found I couldn’t utter a damn word. It had been over a year since I’d seen her freckled face, those curls that were now even longer and softer than before, pulled back away from her face by a headband. And her eyes… they were still the deepest yet striking brown I’ve ever seen. Then I heard my mum’s telltale throat clearing before her elbow jabbed into my side.

“Oh, right.  Hullo… Hermione,” I said and shoved my hands into my jeans pockets so I wouldn’t be tempted, but one hand sneaked up to the back of my head and rubbed vigorously. This made her smile and next thing I knew Hermione had slammed up against my chest, her hair in my face and her breath on my chin.

I had to breathe her in and, Merlin help me, it was like going back in time, before everything turned to shit in a hand basket… before she left. But she was there, in the flesh, and any bitterness towards her hasty decision to leave seemed to vanish in that moment, especially when she whispered in my ear:

“I’ve missed you, Ron.”

Then she moved her arms around to hook under mine and squeezed me tighter around the middle. And I hugged her back, taking a selfish moment to hold her as close as possible, before my brain could catch up to how my heart and body were reacting and remember that I wasn’t supposed to enjoy the feel of her, not this much. We must have both had the realization at the same time because we vaulted away from each other, our faces hot and eyes avoiding the other.

“Here, let me take your things, Hermione. I’ll have Harry send them to his and Ginny’s flat right now,” My mum said, cutting into the tension. On her way out the kitchen she gave me the most disappointed frown and a curt shake of her head, telling me not to even think about it.

“So… you look good. I mean, well, you look… nice. Rested. You look… sorry.” I blew out a frustrated sigh and chuckled nervously.

I’m a fucking idiot.

She smiled and bit her lip, tugging on the hem of her lavender jumper… why did she have to wear that color?

“It’s okay Ron. Relax. And thank you,” she said looking a bit more confident than when we had parted from our embrace.

That was when Harry and Ginny barreled in, followed by Lavender who stayed by my side, making friendly conversation with Hermione. I could feel sweat dripping down my back as I avoided looking directly at Hermione and tried my best to look interested in what everyone was saying, while my chest caved in every time Hermione’s laugh mingled with Lavender’s…

At dinner Hermione regaled us with stories from the past year while we ate under those red and green streamers that were starting to irritate the hell outta me. And the more she talked the more quiet I became because I couldn’t think of anything to say except ‘That’s cool’ or ‘wicked’. It was a disaster. For me, anyway. Everyone else seemed to have a great time. Hermione kept glancing at me, but I refused to meet her eye. I couldn’t help feeling put out and… angry. I wasn’t even sure why, exactly.

Our happy reunion felt like a joke now that she was sitting across from me acting as if she didn’t care at all that Lavender was beside me, rubbing my back and whispering things in my ear that had anyone heard would probably choke on their food. To be clear, I had never meant to go with Lavender again to make her jealous, unlike sixth year. This time I was genuinely trying to move on with my life and I cared for Lavender.

I wasn’t _doing_ anything wrong. But my thoughts… they were another thing altogether. But I reckon you can’t really tell your thoughts to shut it, can you? You can’t help how you feel. But I could replace the blame. And as irrational and horrible as it sounds, the more I listened to Hermione’s tinkling laughter and caught the sweeping curls hair over slender shoulders out of the corner of my eye, the more I wanted to blame Hermione. _She_ was the one who left and didn’t give whatever the hell was going on between us a chance. _She_ was the one who told me to move on, in so many words.

If course I ignored the more mature and reasonable voice in my head that told me nothing ever even happened between us in the first place. And I have someone; Hermione didn’t. But that didn’t mean she never did. And if she _did_ then that meant she hid it from me deliberately. And why would she feel the need to do that when I had been nothing but open and honest with her about Lavender? And she had been so supportive of our relationship, telling me it was good for me to have someone to lean on, to care for me... I convinced myself that she had some sort of fling or, bloody hell, a relationship… But do I really have the right to know about who she is or isn’t dating? Or who she’s ever… shagged? Oh, Merlin.

When dinner was over Lavender, who was on call as a Healer in training at St. Mungos, got an alert through her emergency wristband that she was needed in the Maternity Ward and had to report to work. In other words, she was leaving and I found myself not wanting her to go. She was my anchor in this weird and awkward situation, whether she knew it or not. I wasn’t sure I could deal with the emotions that would want to show without her there to buffer them. It all sounds mental, I know, but it’s the truth, and as soon as she left I knew I had to leave as well.

However, Hermione, sensing that I was about to make a runner, stopped me with a hand on my arm, making my throat go dry.

“Ron, could we talk? Please?” She said it in that bossy tone of hers that let me know she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I missed that tone… “It won’t take long, I promise.”

I begrudgingly looked at her and that confidence she’d had the whole night suddenly seemed like an act, the way she was looking at me then was so hopeful yet sad at the same time. Fuck, I couldn’t be alone with her! I had a girlfriend who trusted me and I would never want to hurt Lavender. She didn’t deserve me. Neither did Hermione. Shit, I’m rubbish at this. I tore my eyes away and looked to Ginny and Harry for help. They avoided my glare with their annoying and knowing smirks, and so I had no choice.

“Yeah, alright,” I said with a frustrated sigh and took my arm out from under her hand so that I could think properly. “Let’s talk.”

XXXXXX

Super Long A/N: I want to make note that Ron isn’t meant to come off as a giant douche for still being in love with Hermione while still with Lavender. The purpose of this chapter was to show his regret, undeniable feelings, and how much he _thought_ he sacrificed in order to let Hermione go, for her to be happy. And going with Lavender was the only way _he_ thought he could have accomplished that. (Hence, the whole “bed of roses” concept and keeping with the prompt from the song I cited in the first chapter.) But, of course, he was wrong. He’s allowed to be wrong. He isn’t perfect and will have to figure out that to make Hermione happy he will have to make Lavender unhappy, and in turn make him feel guilty. He’s complex and I’d like to think that he actually _cares_ about hurting other people’s feelings. I hope that cleared some things up. If not then the rest of the story definitely will. Next chapter will be Hermione’s POV of the “talk” and will also move the story along to the present.


	5. Bed Hopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be narrated from Hermione’s point of view. And it will also catch us up to present day, which is a few months after she returns. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.

**Bed of Roses**

Chapter 5: Bed Hopping

~o~

“So what did you want to talk about?” Ron asked as we sat on the creaking wooden steps with the door to the kitchen behind us. And the abruptness of his voice and the rigidity in his shoulders seemed to have faded once he left the house, thank goodness. The sun was just about to set, the sky still covered in clouds that have not yet been swallowed by darkness, creating a serene sort of calmness to the evening, something that my heart was finally ready to appreciate after stampeding inside my chest… But then what I wanted to say and what had to be said were fighting for dominance over my mouth.

“We- I mean, you… you were quiet during dinner. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, m’alright. Just tired I guess,” he said with a sigh as propped his arms on his knees, then looked at me with his eyes boring into mine, and I found I couldn’t breathe properly. “So you’re really back, then? For good?”

I nodded. “Yes, for good. It was a unique experience, University was. Although not using magic as much was something to get used to. But this,” I sighed and gestured with my arms, taking in the Burrow and the entire magical world around us, knowing he would get my meaning, “is my world, my _life_. I belong _here_.” And although I said here in the general sense, I was thinking of, and looking at, Ron.

He looked thoughtfully at me and nodded his head, seeming satisfied with my answer. “In that case… Welcome back, Hermione.”

His tone was light, but his gaze was not. I knew we would have to discuss certain things once we were face to face again, but I couldn’t find the words. I remember feeling so nervous yet elated to be this close to him again, to hear his voice instead of imagining him talking through his letters. To see his mouth move and his lashes flicker across his eyes when he blinked… Seeing and hearing all of him had me plagued with memories and feelings that I had tried for months to leave in the past.

While I was gone I got the impression from his letters that he was doing well enough, healing. That reassurance helped ground me when all I wanted to do was drop everything and come back. But I had responsibilities, a commitment to University, and my parents who I was working toward gaining their trust. So I stayed and kept in touch- not just with Ron, but with everyone. And surprisingly enough it was his mum, Molly, who got me to open up the most and we became closer. It was through her that I learned of Ron and Lavender officially going together, so when Ron finally wrote me about it I wasn’t thrown, but still completely heartbroken. He finally admitted it, and I swore I could feel his contentment seeping through the parchment. He was happy. And that was all I had ever wanted, wasn’t it?

I had basically given him up; I let him go, thinking I was sacrificing myself in order for the both of us to get our heads on straight before complicating things further. I don’t why I expected him to wait for me when we hadn’t yet acknowledged our feelings, but I shouldn’t have been surprised when he fell into a relationship with Lavender who obviously cares very much for him, loves him unconditionally, and was never afraid to show it. Unlike myself. So how could I deserve him then, when I couldn’t muster up enough courage to stay put and fight for him, especially since I had a suspicion of her intentions beforehand? And the guilt over leaving at such a crucial time, when I now realize he needed me the most, after losing Fred… I’ll never forgive myself for that.

It was hasty and selfish of me to leave the way that I did, I know that. And it was only due to my perseverance in maintaining my relationships in the wizarding world that afforded me a place back into it. And after finally getting my own parents to trust me again I was determined to get everyone here to do the same, no matter how much they insisted on placating me. Even if that meant sitting back and watching Ron and Lavender together, I would do it. For Ron.

Only… I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had fought for him as soon as I saw him standing in that kitchen; the way he looked at me, his arms around me wrapped so tight… I could have said something to let him know I returned for him, but I knew Lavender was in the house and I was afraid of ruining… well, everything.

“Thank you,” I said and had to look away from him in order to appear relaxed, fearful that he might be able to read what was in my heart. It wasn’t fair, none of it was... “It means so much to have everyone welcoming me back like this. It’s quite overwhelming, really.”

“What, did you think we’d all hated you or something?”

“Not everyone… I was most worried about you.”

“Me?! I was fine after you left. I _am_ fine. I told you so in my letters.”

“Reading it then and seeing it now are two different things, Ron. Your mood changed as the night wore on, you can’t deny that.”

“And you think it has to do with you? Bollocks. I was tired is all. I told-”

“Then why couldn’t you look at me half the night? Eye contact doesn’t require much effort, you know.”

I was breathing hard, almost on the verge of tears as I felt myself succumb to the guilt and regret that had piled up. And he was being stubborn, as if I hadn’t noticed how standoffish he had become the while time Lavender was attached to his side. Why can’t he just admit it? Why can’t he just tell me how he really feels: that he’s angry at me for leaving? That me coming back just complicated things further?

“Look,” he said with a surprising calmness, “I’m sorry if it seemed that way, but I don’t hate you, Hermione… Not at all. It’s just…,” he shook his hair from his eyes and looked away from me before speaking again, “I don’t know, strange to see you again, but a good strange. I didn’t know what to expect, you know, with Lavender and you… But I’m glad you’re back. Really.” He finished with an earnest look, his eyes returning to meet mine.

“Really?” I asked stiffly, trying my hardest not to sound the way I felt: about the size of a garden gnome.

“Yes, really,” Ron said and grinned unexpectedly. “You’re still as barmy as ever, aren’t you?”

“Oi!,” I said, taken aback by the sudden change in his tone, and nudged his shoulder, biting my lip to keep from grinning too hard. “You were the one sulking, making me think all sorts of horrible things. I’m sorry I bit your head off. And for… other things. I suppose I’m a bit paranoid, given everything that’s gone on.”

“Yeah…”

I didn’t feel like talking anymore; I was tired and emotionally drained. And Ron obviously didn’t fancy hashing anything out, so we fell into an amicable silence then and looked ahead at the rapidly darkening sky; the sun had gone over the horizon and left an inky blue-blackness in its leave. The light from the kitchen windows lit us from behind and when I glanced at Ron from the corner of my eye I was startled to see him staring at my profile, his expression more open than I’d ever seen before. He parted his lips as if to say something, but was interrupted by Harry and Ginny opening the door and leaning their heads outside to tell us they were heading home and that since I was to stay with them temporarily I was to side-along apparate with Harry.

So we stood and Ron pulled me into a hug for the second time that night, this one much shorter in length, but not lacking in warmth and ease that I felt earlier when I was in his arms. And it was a good thing it hadn’t lasted any longer as I could have gotten used to that feeling, that feeling of him being mine, much too quickly.

{~o~}

And now it is four months later, around Christmas time and that day when I returned, our short conversation outside the Burrow, still rings in my ears and his gaze still flashes behind my lids when I sleep. I can’t shake him. Really, I can’t because I see him every day. Working in the Law Department of the Ministry means that I get to work closely with the Auror Department since they provide statements and testimony in court. Harry, Ron and I also meet up for lunch and I’m at the Weasley’s more often than I am at my own flat, which I just moved into a month ago. Molly insists that I come for dinner and I am not one to disappoint, especially because my own cooking skills are want for improvement.

Ginny was offered a position as Chaser on Holyhead Harpies around the time I moved out which meant she was off to training and Harry, not wanting to eat alone, would of course find himself at the Burrow. Lavender worked in the evenings so Ron, his excuse being that he is an even worse cook than I am, joined us. On the weekends Ginny would come back for a visit and she and Lavender would join us at the pub for a pint. And in order to retain some form of sanity and pride, if I work on it hard enough, I can almost make myself forget that there is a person with us who shouldn’t be, and that the wrong person’s hand is resting on Ron’s knee…

XXXXX

A/N: Okay, so it wasn’t as angsty as I planned, but now we’re all caught up! There will be no more “remembering” as I work towards getting these two nutballs together.


	6. Bed of Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my super nice and fantastical friend, Hedwigshero, for helping me beta this chapter! Her insights and general awesomeness with words helped me so much! 
> 
> I really hope you can stick through reading from Lavender’s point of view again for this chapter in order to get to the good stuff! It will be like your reward, yeah? Again, remember this is Lavender’s point of view. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.

**Bed of Roses**

Chapter 6: Bed of Thorns

I’m not thick. I know how she feels about _my_ boyfriend. She doesn’t even try to hide it, with her sidelong glances in his direction when she thinks no one is watching. The way she blushes when he tells a joke. And how _nice_ she’s been towards me; the way she speaks to me in that strained kindness sort of way. She’s not fooling anyone- the girl does not like me. I thought we had reached an understanding after the battle, and I figured her feelings would have went away by now, but apparently they’ve only gotten stronger. I’m a girl, I know these things, and I can always tell when a girl fancies a boy. The question is: If Hermione wanted Ron all this time why, then, didn’t she come back earlier? Or how about: Why had she left in the first place? Dodgy behavior, I think. And now she’s being such a great ‘friend’, just waiting to jump at the chance to snatch him.

Well, if Hermione wants to play this game, then so can I.

Every day she’s involved in his life, in _our_ lives. And I don’t want to say that her presence has gotten between Ron and I, but it has. There’s a distance between us that wasn’t there before she showed her face again. Ron and I, we don’t talk as much, mostly because both our jobs have conflicting schedules, but when we are alone it’s like a pink hippogriff is in the room with us. A pink hippogriff with long, brown, bushy hair.

It’s Friday night. We’re getting ready to go to the pub to meet friends, and I’m feeling especially drained from working double shifts at St. Mungos during the week as well as frustrated from lack of intimacy. It’s been whole week since we made love!

I’m sitting at my vanity, dressed in my favorite pink flowered dress and cardigan with matching pink sandals. I’m looking in the mirror, trying to decide which color eyeshadow to wear. Ron is in the bath and I am supposed to be “getting my face on”, a phrase Ron likes to tease me with when he sees me sitting here applying rouge or mascara to my blonde lashes. But today, on his way past me, he hadn’t said a word. And it may sound silly, but it’s eating at me. I figure it’s because we’re going to see Hermione tonight and that always makes me antsy, knowing I’m going to have be on full alert with that one, but... there’s something else that I just can’t shake. As I stare at my reflection I can see the turmoil that has been churning in my head for months showing on my face.

I think back to when I would catch Hermione staring at Ron, but this time I see Ron’s ears turning red and the corner of his mouth twitching upwards... And then whenever her name is mentioned he suddenly looks so nervous...  How had I not noticed this before? Perhaps I’d been too focused on Hermione’s intentions instead of worrying about Ron’s.

Memories are flooding my mind, more vivid and with greater meaning and I can’t sit still. With the sound of the shower still running I walk to the dresser and start yanking drawers open, both his and mine, searching for something, anything, that will either confirm or deny what I actually don’t want to know. But I can’t fight the feeling that there is something here.

Then I find it.

I’m crouched, leaning to the side and reaching my arm into the bottom drawer. I’m up to my elbow in Ron’s pants and socks, my hand sweeping across the solid wood bottom when my fingers close around a small object wrapped in a crumpled piece of parchment. Not stopping to think, I pull it out and shove everything else back inside, then I close the drawer quietly, and return back to my seat at the vanity.

My heart is pounding, but I ignore it as I toss the parchment aside on the tabletop between my nail polishes and eyeshadows. I turn the object that was hidden underneath over in my hand; it’s a small, black, square box that looks as if one could expect to find a piece of very important jewelry inside, and my heart leaps. With butterflies in my stomach and my lip biting a suppressed squeal I undo the intricate looking clasp and open it. What I find isn’t a ring, but a golden owl shaped pendant with dark brown stones for eyes; rubies and emeralds are encased in its metal feathers that silently fan in and out of its body, as if taking flight. It’s beautiful. More beautiful than anything Ron has ever given me. I’m disappointed it isn’t a ring, but it’s a lovely gift, I suppose, even though I’m not particularly fond of owls.

I sigh, still disappointed, but relieved that he finally bought me jewelry, something he has never done before. So with that thought in mind I smile before snapping it shut, and turn my attention to the parchment. It’s a letter, and it’s dated just before Christmas of last year, but I don’t see my name. I see - it’s to Hermione, not me.

I feel sick again and my eyes blur as I stare down at Ron’s scratchy letters, some words blotted with ink as if he’d written them with more emphasis. His handwriting is also different in places from having written it in intervals...

_Dear Hermione,_

_I’m sending your Christmas present early. I don’t know why, maybe cos I’ve been holding onto it for so long. I bought it a few months after you left, with my first pay from George. Saw it in the window of a shop and it reminded me of you. You were always the wise one, weren’t you? Still are, ‘course. I remembered red and green are your favourite colors and the stones, well they’re the color of your eyes.  Anyway, yeah, I hope you like it._

_I’m gonna sound like such a twat for saying this, but it’s been building up and I have to get it out. And I’ll probably chuck this letter and start over again, so you’ll never read this anyway. So what the fuck, right?_

_Bloody hell, I miss you, Hermione. Not like everyone else does. I really **really** miss you. I miss your face, your voice, your smell. That sounds creepy, sorry. I have no bloody idea what your feelings are for me anymore, but it’s killing me that you don’t know mine. I sometimes think if I had told you then maybe you’d have stayed. Then maybe I could’ve convinced you to give me a **chance**. But everything was so fucked up with Fred and, well it still is._

_I **need** you, Hermione. Everything seems calmer when you’re around and without you these past months I’ve just been- Shit, I feel like an arse now writing all this. Lav’s been great and I care for her, I do. She’s helped me loads, we’ve helped each other really. But, I don’t know what to do anymore. Maybe I should break it off before it gets too serious. I just can’t hurt her again. Not for something that I’m not even sure **exists** between us._

_But **fucking hell,** Hermione, you’re **it** for me! For some mental reason, even if I never get to have you, I know in some thick part of my brain you will **always** be it for me. How mad is that? We’ve never even **kissed** and already I’m **fucked**._

_I fucked up and I don’t know how to fix it and it’s Christmas and you’re not **here** and I_

That is where he stops writing. I flip the parchment over in my shaking hands, and it’s blank. He must have had to stop suddenly, maybe when he heard me coming? But I’m grateful because I don’t need to read anymore to know that he...

He  loves her.

I’m angry, hurt, misled. I frown into the mirror and see my chin quivering before the lump forms in my throat, forcing me to swallow it and my tears. I will not cry. I’m not a teenage girl anymore. And as much as I want to hate him right now, I don’t, and I feel stupid for it. I may not have taken the time to really know him during our first time around, but this time I have. And I know he’s a good man. Perhaps a bit clueless and lacks confidence, but Ron has a good heart. A heart that I’ve wanted so desperately to be mine. But now it’s a fact, it’s in the hands of another. The realization hits me like a brick and I resist the urge to throw my lipstick at the pathetic looking face staring back at me: thin lips, furrowed brow and a wrinkled chin that’s still shaking despite my best efforts to look nonplussed.

I can hear the shower turn off from behind the wall to my left and I quickly hide the letter and box behind a hairbrush. My pained expression changes abruptly to a more passive one just before the bathroom door opens into our bedroom; a cloud of steam precedes Ron who has a towel wrapped around his naked waist, shaking his wet hair onto the carpet.

“Running late, sorry,” he says without a glance in my direction as he starts getting dressed.

I can’t speak. It’s as if the door had been wrenched open and everything I had put into place for the past year and a half has just been thrown into a new light; a much harsher, unflattering light.

And maybe, just maybe I do hate him, just a bit.

Maybe even more than a bit.

I’m glaring at him, frozen and speechless, because I don’t know what to do with this heartbreaking discovery: the proof of his true feelings; feelings that I should have known were true all along, but was too blind to see. I gave him my heart and he took it, greedily. He used it to heal his wounds and now he’s going to chuck me. What a waste. And all for her...

“Hey, are you alright? You don’t look too good.”

I blink slowly at him and plaster the biggest, fakest smile that I could muster in my face and stand up in front of him.

“I’m brilliant,” I say in a determined voice, and kiss him soundly on the mouth. He looks surprised at my change in mood, but grins down at me, his hands floating around my hips. I swallow the bile that’s crawling up my throat, clearing it before taking his hand from my body and stepping away, leading him toward the door. “Come on, everyone’s waiting for us.”

XXXXX

Ron's POV will be next!


	7. Stranger in My Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks goes out to my wonderful friend and beta, Otterlybrilliant, for helping make this chapter better and basically keeping me sane.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

I’m tired. Strike that. I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted... if you can believe that coming from someone whose range in this area had once reached only the depth of a teaspoon. I sometimes like to humor myself into believing that in the years after that expression was used to describe me (by Hermione, no less) that I’ve matured and grown, that I‘ve learned enough from my past mistakes not to be a bloody fucking wanker in my adult years. Right, still need to work on that…

I look at Lavender and I wonder if she has any clue what goes on in my head, and if she does then why the hell is she still with me? I don’t deserve her, or anyone, if I can carry on with them while I have another taking up space in my head and heart. I thought I was meant to be with Lavender, that we were brought back together for some greater purpose. And in a way we were, the way we helped each other cope with the deaths of Fred and her parents. Especially since the first time around was, admittedly, ridiculously juvenile and nothing but hormones leading us around by our hands and lips. I reckon I wanted to make up for how I treated her back in school. But it’s the same thing happening all over again, and I feel like I’ve learned absolutely nothing.

Something’s… off tonight. When I came out the bathroom Lavender was quiet, her face set as if she was holding back, and that is not like her. I was concerned, not having seen her like this before, but when I asked her she said she was fine- no, brilliant. And then as we were about to leave she doubled back for her bag, which she never forgets as she has so many bloody “essentials” in that blasted thing. It was a bit odd that she had almost left without it, but I shrugged it off, being a bit preoccupied with my own thoughts.

Ginny had been harping on about this muggle pub ever since her Quidditch teammates told her about it. So Lavender and I had to apparate some distance away and walk the streets of London. Again, she was unusually quiet, hardly laughing at my pointing out the barmy and fascinating ways muggles live. When we finally reach the pub my mood matches Lavender’s: I’m irritated, and I don’t even know why.

The lights are dim in this place and the music playing is fast and obnoxious, not exactly what I need right now as I have enough noise in my head already. I see Harry and Ginny sitting in a small booth to my far left. I wave at them then nod towards the bar. Right, drinks first. Hermione isn’t here yet and I want to get a few in before she arrives and has a go at me for drinking too much.

“Two firewh- I mean, er, pints of whatever you got. Please,” I say with what I assume is a charming smile to the woman behind the bar, hoping she doesn’t notice my mistake.

“Only one. I’m not drinking.”

Almost snapping my neck, I turn and lift a brow at Lavender, shocked. “Since when don’t you drink?”

“Since tonight,” she says simply and shrugs her shoulders, keeping my eye.

“Alright,” I say slowly and turn back to adjust my order. After taking my drink I drop onto a stool and face her, asking, “Okay, what’s wrong? You said before it was nothing, but you’re acting weird, and you’ve got that look again.”

She had folded her arms, metal bracelets clanging against each other on her wrist, pushing her ample tits up and together, her necklace trapped between them. I can’t keep my eyes from following the gold chain down to where it disappears under her low-cut blouse. I’m a bloke and she’s my girlfriend, right? I reckon I’m allowed, and it does seem deliberate on her part…

“Do you like ‘em?” she asks and my eyes are pulled away from her chest to her face where she’s smirking at me. “My tits, Ron,” her smirk is gone, “do you fancy them?”

She comes in closer to stand between my legs, arms still wrapped beneath her chest. Before I can think on it further I notice Hermione standing behind Lavender looking at us uncomfortably. Lavender follows my gaze; she drops her arms and her glare vanishes to give Hermione a bright smile.

“Oh, hi!” Lavender greets Hermione in that sickly sugar-coated voice that means she’s really hacked off about something. What the fuck is going on? I share a quick look with Hermione and shrug; she’s as taken aback as I am by Lavender’s odd behavior as she has never talked to Hermione that way before. Then I see there’s a tall blond haired bloke standing next to Hermione, staring down Lavender’s top, and I know why she’s suddenly so perky. The girl does love attention, doesn’t she?

“And who are you? Hermione, I didn’t know you were dating,” Lavender says to the blond who’s grinning down at her. Even with her back turned I can tell she’s got a toothy smile on her face. I use the excuse of placing my pint back down in order to turn my back on the real life image of Hermione with a date. There’s a sick feeling in my stomach as my brain begins conjuring images of them entwined in each other’s arms, kissing and – fucking hell – shagging. But depending on how long she’s known this tosser Hermione would never shag someone so quickly. Would she?

But how does it matter what I think? I’m with Lavender. This shouldn’t bother me so damn much. Then I wonder: Could she possibly be feeling even an ounce of this when she sees me with Lavender? I never set out to make Hermione jealous, but I allow myself a tiny bit of hope that maybe she is, that maybe she’s now trying to make _me_ jealous. But that would mean… nevermind. I can’t allow myself to think that way anymore. I can’t go back there, to a place of longing and misunderstandings all over again; Where all I did was create the most impossible what-if scenarios and having nowhere to go with all these bloody _feelings_.

“Ron, come over and meet Trent!” Lavender’s loud, high pitched voice carries over the noise of music and talking that has filled the space between me and them. Harry and Ginny come over then, the latter of which looks as if she’s three sheets to the wind. Looks like they started without us...

Feeling obligated, I go and introduce myself to the wanker who has a hand on Hermione’s hip and whose eyes were previously glued to Lavender’s tits. I don’t even need to hear him talk to know he’s a twat. I grumble a greeting and he does the same.

“Hermione,” is all I can say, but even that, just saying her name, has caught in my throat, which has suddenly become bone-dry.

Hermione looks nervous, but beautiful as only she can in her modest, but frilly, blue top and jeans; She’s got tall boots on her feet, and her long curls are pulled away from her face into a bushy ponytail… It takes everything I have to force my eyes to look away.

“Looking smart, brother,” Ginny says with a slur as she moves her hips to the ridiculous music while holding a weird shaped glass of green tinted drink in one hand. “Lucky you have Lav-Lav to dress you, yeah?” She snickers and then turns to Trent as if just noticing him standing there. “Blimey, who’s this Malfoy look-alike?”

‘ _Seriously_?’ I mouth to Harry who shrugs apologetically.

“Is he with you then?” she asks Hermione, almost accusingly, and I have to fight the urge to run and hug my sister right then and there. Lavender sighs next to me, her hands fidgeting nervously with the sleeve of my shirt. Lavender doesn’t fidget...

Trent introduces himself to Ginny in a husky voice that I bet he uses to get on with as many witches as he can. His teeth, so straight and white one could go blind from the glare, and that stupid dimple in his chin, are enough to make me want to flatten his face with my fist. Smarmy git.

Harry takes Trent’s offered hand. “Harry Potter, nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you both,” Trent says with another toothy smile.Then he turns back to me and grins, and I wonder what the hell is so funny. “Hermione’s told me all about you, Ron.”

“Really?” I ask, slightly taken aback, and I can see her blushing from the corner of my eye. “Surely, she must’ve been talking for ages then,” I reply sarcastically, apparently unable to stop myself from continuing to act like a git. “She does that a lot, mind you.”

“Talk… about you?” Trent asks, glancing at Hermione, confused.

“No, I mean talking… in general,” I say slowly, enjoying the redness on Hermione’s cheeks. “Hermione, where’d you find this guy anyway?”

Lavender tightens her arm that is laced through mine and laughs loudly. “Don’t mind Ron, he’s such a joker,” she says and playfully slaps my chest with her other arm, only it’s harder than any other time she’s done it.

“Oi! Bloody hell, Lav! ”

“Yes, he does that a lot – acting like a prat,” Hermione cuts in, swiftly shutting me up. I give Harry the finger when he voices his agreement. “Anyway,” she continues, “we met at University last year. He’s in town visiting...”

“Oh, you’re a mug-” I start to say, but Hermione stops me in with wide eyes. “…So that means you’ll be going back home then? To stay?” I ask with utmost insincerity. He says yes and puffs out his chest, looking even more confused. Ignoring Hermione’s eyes darting between us, and Lavender’s painful grip on my arm I say, ever so sarcastically, “That’s a right shame, yeah? How far away from here do you live exactly?”

Ginny bursts out laughing and Harry groans.

“Too far... I go back tomorrow, matter of fact. Why?”

“Just curious is all. Hermione never mentioned you,” I say coolly. I can practically hear Harry telling me with his mind to shut the hell up. “So what is it you do exactly? _Trent_?”

“I’m an intern for the Western Medical Group, working as a biotechnological research analyst. What is it you do then? Chief Inspector?” He picks up his chin as if challenging me. My eyes flicker to Hermione; she gives me a smug look, knowing I don’t have a fucking clue what the hell he just said. So maybe he’s not as dumb as he looks…

“I do… this and that, and things,” I mumble with a shrug.

“He and Harry are Aur – policymen!” Ginny says and stumbles to stand my side, knocking her elbow into my ribs, as if to say she’s got a handle on things. I grimace at her and attempt to take the foul looking drink from her hand before she spills it all over my trousers. She holds it out of my reach only for Harry to snatch it up and place it on the tray of a waitress walking by.

“I wasn’t finished, Harry!”

“Trust me, you were,” Harry says and kisses Ginny on her forehead, which somehow placates her. I’ll never understand these two. “Policemen, is what she meant,” Harry says politely to Trent.“We work for a... special branch of the, er, government... it’s... complicated. So, your work sounds interesting,” Harry finishes quickly.

“Yeah... I’m sorry, Is there a problem?” I hadn’t realized I was glaring so hard until Trent is facing me dead on, with a glare of his own.

“No problem, mate,” I say and take a step forward, crossing my arms and unashamedly flexing the muscles I’ve gained on my arms and chest. “Hermione’s our best mate, and I find it interesting that you, just moments ago, had your eyes my girlfriend’s chest, then all but tried to talk my sister up. But no… no problem at all.”

The more uneasy and bewildered he looks the more I thrive on it, and the more Lavender’s pink painted nails dig into my bicep. Everything is fucked up again: I’m acting like a jealous ex-lover while my girlfriend is attached to my arm, but all I see is Hermione and him, together. In my efforts to stamp down my feelings I’d forgotten to prepare for this moment; when she would act like a normal human being and want the company of men outside of myself and Harry. But the worst part is that she would’ve thought to go with such a complete arse.

Then Trent’s face breaks into a grin and he shakes his head, a look of understanding flashing across his face. “First of all, mate, I was only saying hello to your sister. And as far as your girlfriend is concerned I wasn’t looking at her… chest. I was noticing her necklace. Never seen anything like it before.”

Oh, well don’t I feel even more like an arse...

He points at Lavender and we all turn our attention back to her tits (really, does she have to dress like that all the damn time?) and my heart stops working. Trent with his blonde hair and dimpled chin are the least of my worries in this moment. I’m frozen; my feet are rooted to the floor as my eyes stare unblinkingly at the pendant hanging from the chain around lavender’s neck. It’s an owl pendant with ruby and emerald… wings, and brown… eyes. Holy fucking hell…

“It must be some kind of mechanism making the wings move like that,” Hermione says for Trent’s sake since the rest of us know it’s done by magic, no one more than I.

I gulp and watch as Hermione reaches out to touch the wings that are opening and closing on Lavender’s chest and she says, with awe in her voice, “It’s… lovely.”

“I just _love_ owls…,” Lavender says to Hermione and I can see her glance at me from the corner of her eye.

My heart is pounding and a million thoughts are racing through my brain. That pendant... Lavender isn’t fond of owls. She thinks they’re ghastly creatures, the way they can swallow a mouse whole. No, this is _the_ pendant, the one I had bought so long ago… for Hermione. But- how did she find it? Lavender is not a snoop. So then what made her search through my things? I look at her face and she’s glaring right at me. I don’t know what to say. What _can_ I say? Tell her to take it off, that it doesn’t belong to her? What is she planning to do? Torture me all night? I swallow as our eyes remain locked and her smile falters, and I know I deserve anything she’s got for me. If she slaps me now I won’t try and prevent it.

But then there’s Hermione, and if she finds out… Well, I can’t let that happen. Not here, not like this. And the smug facade Lavender has on right now won’t last; the last thing I want is for her to feel humiliated for making a scene or, bloody hell, crying in front of everyone.

“Lav, can I talk to you? Outside?”

“You don’t want to do this here, in front of everyone?” Lavender says coldly, all pretenses lost. The tension in our group turns in on itself and confusion has now set in. “Don’t want to look like the baddie in all this, do you?”

“Don’t want to do what?” Ginny asks with a huff.

“Ron, what’s going on?”

Hermione’s voice gives me pause and I see that Lavender notices, but I ignore the others staring at us, and instead look at Lavender more earnestly.

“Lav, please.”

Without a word Lavender turns her head and gives Hermione a hard look, making her take a step back in surprise, then stalks toward the door, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder and pushing her way through the crowd of people.

“What the bloody hell was that all about?” Harry asks from in front of me, then leans in to whisper, “This has to do with Hermione, doesn’t it?”

“Sodding hell,” I mutter in lieu of answering Harry’s obvious question, and rub my face with my hands.

“Looks like whatever you did, you’d better shield your bollocks,” I hear Trent say loudly followed by a boisterous laugh and Hermione telling him to shut it.

“Ron, you should go after her,” she says, and I don’t know when she had gotten so close. She grabs my arm and I can’t think straight. “Whatever happened; whatever it is you’ve done, or didn’t… just make it right, yeah?” I look from her hand up to her eyes and get lost in them for a second before nodding, knowing what it is I have to do, finally.

“Yeah, alright.”

I can still feel the heat from Hermione’s touch on my skin as I hurry towards the exit after Lavender. I hold onto that feeling, letting it course through me, saturating my nerves, and giving me the courage to do what I should’ve done a long time ago; and hopefully get through this night without causing collateral damage.

XXX

 A/N: Next chapter will be from Hermione’s point of view.

Thank you for reading and please review!          


	8. Putting the Matter to Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter in particular was a monster to write and I have my tara-iffic beta, OtterlyBrilliant, to thank for once again not only keeping me in line, but also for adding her own flair of awesomeness where I was lacking.  
> This chapter is the one before the last. It will be narrated from Hermione’s POV. It will be angsty. It will probably make you want to throttle each of the characters (or me perhaps), but hey, can’t please everyone!  
> Here we go...  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.

“Well, that was a bit awkward, yeah?”

I look over my shoulder at Trent; He’s scratching his chin and looking around at me, Ginny and Harry. His eyes are searching for an answer as to what the hell just happened, but trying to appear nonchalant. I can’t answer him; everything else had been chased out of my head except that look Ron gave me before he left after Lavender. I turn to catch a glimpse of his crimson hair, darkened by the lack of light in this noisy, overcrowded pub.

“Hey, you alright?” Harry had found his way next to me, his clear and low voice cuts through the din of noise surrounding us, and the onslaught of possibilities percolating in my head.

“Yeah, I’m just... I need to use the loo,” I say hurriedly, avoiding Harry’s narrowed eyes and ignoring Ginny calling my name as I slip through the bodies of people in front of us without a backwards glance.

I’m a mess of contradiction; guilt and anxiety are fighting to stamp down my rapidly beating heart that wants to leap for joy and hope. I’ve been waiting and watching him with her, not wanting to get in the way of his happiness. But the way he looked at me just then, when I touched him, it was with a conviction that I’ve never witnessed before; as if he was finally allowed to express something that was kept hidden for so long...

Then it hits me, like a brick being thrown straight through my chest: It should have been me, not Lavender, with him these past four months - for the past year and a half, really - and now there’s no denying that he’s made that same realization. I just can’t understand what brought this on so suddenly, and why Lavender was so angry with him...

I hadn’t lied when I said I needed the loo; I wanted to escape somewhere more quiet to put my head on, but instead I find myself headed away from the back of the pub, making my way toward the heavy wooden door leading to the street outside. I need space and fresh air; I need to breathe, to think. I need a new plan because what I’ve been doing these past several months has made me miserable. I may be headed toward more misery, but I need to take this chance: I can’t stand idly by, making assumptions and waiting for something to happen. And whether or not he is about to break it off with Lavender I to know h need him to know how I feel. And I have a feeling Lavender has known of my feelings for Ron all along, and she went for him anyway. Yes, I was gone, but now I’m back, and I’ve waited long enough; I’m going to take a page from Lavender’s book and go for what I want.

There must be some kind of protocol for these types of situations. I mean, exactly how long are you supposed to wait after a person is unattached before you try to get on with them? I remember how Trent and I met and I shake my head, forcing the memories to the side; I’ll deal with him later. I feel guilty again, but now my guilt is overpowered by an invisible force driving me forward; I need to _move_. 

I yank the door open and I pause to let the cool air wash over me. The relief is short lived; I stop suddenly and catch the door behind me, letting it close, silent and heavy against my back. A couple is having a row about ten yards away and I suck in a breath the instant I see that it is Ron and Lavender. Ron is sitting on the low ledge of a brick-covered window; his feet are tapping anxiously on the sidewalk, making his shoulders shake as his arms are crossed over his knees. He’s looking at the ground as Lavender stands over him, holding herself around the stomach and tears are running down her face. I didn’t expect to find them outside the pub, of all places. Why hadn’t they apparated to a more private place?

I’m suddenly frozen; I don’t know what to do. Do I go back inside and let them have their privacy or make myself known and apologize for interrupting? Should I tell them to discuss this at home because that would be the proper thing to do? But then I picture them making up, with a bed nearby, and I quickly, and selfishly, change my mind. Feeling reprehensible (and knowing Trent is still waiting for me inside, but ignoring the voice in my head telling me that leaving your guest waiting is impolite) I quietly sidestep into an archway of an abandoned tea shop next door and let out my breath. Making sure no one is around, I take my wand out discreetly and tap the top of my head with it, the strange trickling sensation of being disillusioned washes over me, making me invisible. I am closer now and able to hear more clearly; this is so wrong, but I can’t stop myself. I have to know...

“I gave you everything, Ron!” Lavender was saying. “Bloody hell, I would’ve done _anything_ for you.”

“What do you want me to say?” Ron replies, and as I peek around the side of the doorway see him look up at her with his hands out in front of him, as if pleading with her, then starts to rub both sides of his neck furiously. “I’m- I know it sounds daft, but I’m sorry. Sodding hell, I never meant for this... I didn’t-”

“Oh, spare me, will ya? This whole time... you and her-”

“Nothing ever happened!”

“That isn’t the point! Don’t you get it?” Lavender yells, and hastily wipes the tears off her face. She lowers her voice. ”Feelings are enough to go on, and you clearly have more for her than you ever did for me.”

Ron hangs his head in his hands, fingers gripping his hair which is back to a more shocking shade of orange under the bright streetlamp... silence speaks volumes. The hard determination he showed inside the pub seemed to have ebbed a bit.

“You can’t even admit it, can you?” she asks unbelievingly, her voice shaking. I put a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle a gasp as my eyes begin to fill with tears. I am surprised when I find myself on her side;angry at Ron for leading her on this way, twice now. And to witness her heart breaking right in front of me... This is never what I wanted.

Then she lets out a derisive laugh and scoffs at him, “It’s no wonder Hermione left...”

I have to strain to hear, but her last comment made him seem so... pathetic. And I’m screaming in my head at him to stand up and tell her everything; to tell her the truth- whatever that may be - so that she can move on. So we can all move on. I can’t stand to see her, or him, like this. It isn’t right.

Ron mumbles something I can’t hear to which Lavender tilts her head back with a loud laugh and smacks her hands down on her thighs.

“Are you joking? It doesn’t matter? Doesn’t _matter_? What kind of daft thing is that to say?”

Ron stands up and I take a step back, further into the doorway, even though I know he won’t be able to see me through my disillusionment charm and the fact that he’s focused on Lavender. Still, I close my eyes and lean against the cold, hard wall and brace myself for what he has to say next.

“It doesn’t matter” he says, “because she... she doesn’t... you know.”

“Love you? You think Hermione doesn’t _love_ you?” Lavender laughs at him again, and I’m finding it harder to breathe, and I still I can’t look at them. “So because you think Hermione doesn’t love you back, you just go with the next available person to look at you? I thought you were better than that, that you grew up! I did!”

“It wasn’t like that, Lav. I swear to Merlin, I never meant it that way. I fucked up, yeah, but that necklace...”

I can tell he’s being sincere, but she’s not seeing it that way, and I can’t say I blame her. But, my goodness, to hear that Ron thinks I don’t love him is like a knife to my heart, and I want to jump out from my hiding place and show him just how wrong he is. And that necklace? What does a necklace have to do with anything?

“You had it all night, but didn’t say anything. It isn’t yours- Why the hell did you have to wear it?” Ron asks with an edge to his voice.”Fucking hell. You say you’ve grown up, yeah? You should’ve talked to me about it instead of trying to have a go at me-”

“Like you’re one to talk? Keeping secrets and lying... I never lied when I told you I loved you.”

“What? I never lied-”

“That’s right, you just never _said_ it. Silly me! And I’ve seen the way you look at her... It all makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

There’s a silence and I tear myself away from the wall to watch as Lavender rips something away from her chest - the owl pendant and the chain it hangs from are now dangling from her fist. She drops it into his open palm with an unsteady breath.

“You’re right, it isn’t mine.” Then she hands him his wand, which he pockets straight away, apparently not intending on going anywhere. And now I know why they hadn’t apparated. “And are you? Mine, that is?” she asks, her expression cold and hard, but her voice anything but.

Ron steps toward her as she takes a step back, shaking her head and looking away from him, biting her lip. “I don’t want it to be like this,” he says. “You have to believe me; I wanted this to work. So bloody much, you’ve no idea. I really did.”

“If that’s the case, then there would’ve been no need to hide things from me.” She digs around inside her handbag then thrusts a wadded up piece of parchment into his chest, making him stagger back.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. His eyes close for a beat before he opens the parchment and looks down at it, then at Lavender. “I’m sorry. This is... shit. Listen- wait.” He grabs her arm when she takes her wand out to apparate and starts talking faster. ”Please, Lav. Look, it’s true, alright? Yeah, I fancy her; Reckon I always have. But I didn’t do anything about it because I’m a bloody coward and then she left and then _we_ got on and we were happy, yeah? But then she came back... and I still wanted to be with you.”

“But?”

My hand is now on my chest, making sure my heart doesn’t thump so hard that it breaks through my sternum. My boots are melded to the sidewalk as I slide down the wall to sit on pavement, and my eyes are fixed, unblinking, on Ron’s profile as he explains how he feels... about me... to Lavender. I can’t believe I’m witnessing this exchange.

“But it’s all... wrong, isn’t it?” He drops Lavender’s arm, but remains staring at her, his mouth set in a straight line and his back rigid with nerves.

“So you’re finishing with me?” Lavender asks with her eyes narrowed, as if she already knows the answer, but needs confirmation.

With the owl necklace in one hand and the parchment in the other, Ron crosses his arms over his chest and, with new-found conviction, he nods. “Yeah, I reckon I am. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to... I just want to do the right thing by you. It wouldn’t be fair to you if we stayed on, d’you know what I mean?”

“Right...” Lavender shakes her head and then sighs, giving him a contemplative look. “So what’re you gonna do now? Tell her you,” Lavender breaks off and shakes her head again as she lets out a shaky sigh. “You’re gonna tell her you- you love her?”

“I dunno...” Ron shrugs and opens his hand to look down at the necklace. I can see it from where I’m barely standing upright: The rubies and emeralds are shining more brilliantly under the streetlamp than it had inside the pub. I see the corner of his lips turn up slightly, and I smile along with him, my heart flipping over at the thought of those words coming from his mouth, and his eyes on mine when he says them.

But the smile is gone when he lifts his head. Lavender, despite her obvious attempts to stay in control, is  crumbling and that last thread of control she was hanging from has broken after seeing Ron’s smile. Her face is red and she looks about ready to burst.

“So that’s it then? Now that you got what you wanted out of me, you’ll just keep carrying on with your precious feelings for someone you know doesn’t even want you?” Her voice is rising with every word and she’s having trouble speaking. This is so hard to watch and I know I should probably sneak away, go back inside and mind my own business. But her next words keep me rooted to the spot.

“D’you have any idea what it felt like to find something hidden from me, in my own home? Here I am living with you, snogging you every day... shagging! And you’re... pining away after... after Hermione! Hermione! And do you think she would ever give you a chance? Not if she were smart, which I obviously am not since I gave you two of them!”

Ron is shocked into silence through her tirade, but his face is just as red as Lavender’s. “I said I was sorry,” he says slowly through clenched teeth. “I don’t know what else to say. I’m fucking sorry, alright? You’re treating me like a cheating bastard, like you caught me shagging someone else. It’s a fucking gift, Lavender! And a piece of parchment I wrote so long ago I barely remember what’s written! Any feelings I had for Hermione... it doesn’t matter anymore because we had moved on. I was with you, and that was enough-”

“Enough? That’s what I was to you? Enough?!”

“No! That’s not- you have to let me finish!”

Lavender bursts into tears, her hands are covering the tears streaming down her face and when Ron reaches out to her she shoves him away. “I gave my _life_ to you. I would’ve m-married you...  and you crushed it all, Ron! All the plans...” She chokes on her words and Ron is watching her, at a loss for what to do or say. “And after everything we’ve been through, together. Why did you agree to move in together?”

“I- I dunno,” Ron replies sheepishly. “I went through hell at Auror training and when I came back you were here- I dunno, it was just... easy and I didn’t have to question everything. ”

“So you’re saying you went with me because... I made it easy for you?”

“No. Fuck.” He rubs his face in frustration and starts pacing. “It was easy to just... exist. And that was fine- great, but I can’t just exist anymore. I’m kinda glad you found that.”

“Merlin... You’re so much more fucked up than I thought,” Lavender says and turns to walk away, but he stops her again.

“Not glad, wrong word, sorry! I’m... relieved.”

Her face is wet and her eyes rimmed with red from crying, but she doesn’t bother to hide it when she says in a biting tone, “You’re a prick, Ronald Weasley. You should’ve just told me from the beginning not to bother. Instead you used me to fill up space in your bed.” She takes a step back and smooths her hair and swipes her fingers under her eyes.

“That’s not what it was about, Lavender. Don’t put shit like that in my mouth.”

“I’ll be fine without you, Ron. And I never want to see you, ever again,” she says icily, and I almost believe her if it isn’t for her rapidly blinking eyes, holding back more tears. “Do you still feel _relieved_?”

“I didn’t mean it like-”

“Doesn’t matter. Good luck with all your... feelings, and figuring out what the hell to do with them.”

And just like that she takes a step back and walks away.

“Wait! Lav! Let me explain!”

Then with a faint crack she’s gone.

Ron is standing on the sidewalk by himself, staring into the empty space where Lavender had just disappeared. I stand up quickly and as silently as I can to look around the street, hoping that I don’t see any muggles passing through who might have seen a person vanish before their eyes. Thankfully it’s late enough that everyone seems to be wherever they are needed on a Friday night: The street is empty.

I want to make myself visible and go to him, but I’m held back by uncertainty: seeing how affected Lavender was by him, how he really had used her... And maybe he hadn’t meant to, and maybe his intentions with her weren’t all misleading, but the fact is he didn’t love her and kept things from her that inevitable broke her heart.

“That’s not what I fucking meant... Fucking hell, I can’t do one fucking thing right.” He’s muttering to himself and pacing the pavement, his hair in his hands.

The pub door opens and music floods out, and I wonder why Ron and Lavender hadn’t heard it earlier when I had come out the same way...

It’s Trent. I forgot about him, again. Well, given the circumstances I’m not surprised. But he is the last person I want to talk to right now. And yet he is striding over to the one person I do want to talk to, so desperately.

“Oi, Ron!”

“Yeah, er, Trent, right?” Ron answers after looking around, as I had done moments ago, to make sure no one saw Lavender disapparate,

“Right,” Trent says, “Listen, have you seen Hermione?”

Damn. I didn’t realize how long I had been sitting out here... eavesdropping, on a very private conversation... Well, it did involve me, didn’t it?

“What about Hermione?” Ron squints at him, frustrated.

“Hermione? Have you seen her? Did she come out this way?”

“Hermione’s missing?” Ron’s tone goes from distracted to alarmed. “Harry! Where’s Hermione?”

I turn and see Harry and Ginny walking out of the pub, the noise inside once again being cut off by the door slamming shut behind them. When they pass me I inch my way toward the pub entrance along the wall.

“Can’t find her,” Harry says shortly, his head turning in every direction, searching. I think Ginny sees a glimmer of me as I move. She peers over her shoulder right at me, but then turns her attention to Harry, and I let out my breath. I can’t have them find me out here; then ROn will know I’ve been eavesdropping and I can’t have that conversation. I know he’s embarrassed enough about the things Lavender said, whether her words rang true or not. I’m certain he wouldn’t want me to have witnessed any of it.

“We thought she might’ve found you,” she says to Ron and gives Harry a worried look.

I reach the door and before I open it I hear Ron accuse Trent, “Didn’t _you_ come here with her? If anything happens to her-”

I slip inside and- I hadn’t thought this through. Where can I possibly go in a crowded pub to magically reappear? I don’t have time to think. Ron looked about ready to call the Aurors in to search for me. Crouching down against the wall next to the door I lift the disillusionment charm and stand up quickly. No one noticed, although I was prepared with an excuse of a lost earring, but no matter.

I rush outside and Ron is speaking animatedly to Harry who looks very anxious.

“If this tosspot hadn’t lost her-”

“Oi, I didn’t lose anyone!” Trent, who had been looking down at his watch, flashes Ron a scowl.

“I’m here!” I call out and run over, not having to bother pretending to look breathless.

“Hermione!” Ron yells then pushes past Trent to stand in front of me. I straighten, taken aback, not only by his tone, but by being this close to him, after everything that was revealed to me. “Where the hell were you?”

”Hermione, I checked the loo and you weren’t there,” Ginny says from behind Ron.

“I was... talking to a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time, from primary school. And she, er, talks a _lot,”_ I roll my eyes for added effect. “You must’ve missed us by a hair. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” Then I shrug my shoulders as I look around at them, giving an expression that says they needn’t have worried.

“Yeah, alright,” Ginny says abruptly with her own shrug, accepting my story on behalf of everyone else. “So Ron, what were you doing out here all alone? Where’s Lavender?”

“She left,” Ron says with a sigh and stops Ginny from asking any further questions by giving her a hard stare. “I don’t want to talk about it, Ginny. Forget it.”

“Well, I was concerned is all,” she snaps at him.

“Bollocks,” Ron snorts.

“I was!”

“Are they always like this?” Trent mutters next to me.

“Shut up, Trent,” Ron and Ginny exclaim simultaneously.

“Well, I’m knackered,” Harry interrupts with, what has to be, the fakest yawn I have ever seen. “Ginny, let’s go home. Ron, Hermione, we’ll talk later, yeah?”

Ron and I glance at each other again and we nod together; he holds my gaze and I feel a surge of electricity between us, making me jolt. I try to cover it, but he must have noticed my body shiver in that second of eye contact because he narrows his eyes in question. I shake my head only slightly and I have to look away.

“Trent, good to meet you,” Harry is saying and shakes his hands with him, then gives Ron’s shoulder a squeeze, and me a smile, before he drags Ginny away. I wave at her when she turns around and mouths to me that we’ll also talk later and then points to Trent. I roll my eyes and she does the same before turning the corner with Harry, presumably to find a more discreet place to disapparate.

And now I’m faced with Trent. Why did he have to come now, of all the weeks to visit, and make things more complicated? Not that he is aware of anything becoming complicated, or at least he wasn’t before we came here...

“Oh, shit.” Ron’s face falls and he lets out a groan.

“What? What is it?” I ask right away; the current between us is still pulsing through me, making me jumpy. I’m also grateful for the distraction because I’m not yet sure how to deal with Trent who is looking impatiently at Ron and I, clearly wanting him to leave us alone.

“I was gonna ask Harry to stay with him and Ginny tonight,” Ron says and runs his hands through his hair. “And I am not about to walk in on whatever those two are up to, not again.” He grimaces and I snort, but then he looks me in the eyes again and his expression is unreadable. ”Lav and I, we broke up.”

I open my eyes wide, feigning shock. “Oh, that’s... wow... Well, how about the Burrow? You still have a room there, of course.” My mind shouts at me to shut up and tell him to come home with me instead.

“Nah, I don’t wanna wake ‘em. Mum’ll have kittens if I show up this late.”

Trent whistles and chuckles. ”Tough break, mate.”

Ron and I look at him with identical expressions of incredulity. What exactly was I thinking, bringing him with me?

I make a decision.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Ron as I start to pull Trent to the side, then turn back and, as an afterthought, point to him and say, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Er, yeah, fine,” Ron says and, after giving Trent a distasteful glare, slumps down onto the window ledge where I had seen him sitting on when I first came outside.

“Hermione, I go back home tomorrow,” Trent says as soon as we’re out of ear-shot.

“Yes, I’m aware, but-”

He leans down to my ear and he smells of whiskey and cigarettes, and I wonder just how worried he could have possibly been about my whereabouts, if he had time for a drink and a cigarette.

“I’d like to see you before I go, if you know what I mean,” he whispers, and of course, there is no doubt about his intentions.

I look up at him, aghast at his blatant invitation for sex, especially since we have never even...

From over Trent’s shoulder I see that Ron has stood up, and is watching us closely with his arms crossed tightly against his broad chest.

“I can’t possibly- that is entirely inappropriate, Trent,” I whisper and take a step back. “Ron, he’s going through something right now and he needs a place to stay tonight...”

“Then give him a key and come back to the hotel with me. You don’t want to spend the night with a depressing sod like that. I’d be a lot more fun, yeah?”

This is unexpected, and certainly not the same Trent I met at University. The Trent I knew was funny and sweet and,made no effort to hide the fact that he fancied me. And while there may have been a few moments of weakness on my part, I thought I made it perfectly clear before I left University that it would never work between us. I thought he understood, but here he is acting like a prat to my friends, and like a randy git towards me.

The situation is drowning me and I am barely able to form a thought, let alone a response. Trent takes my stupefied silence as confirmation because his lips are suddenly crushing mine, and I stagger backwards to stay upright.

The first time we had kissed was awkward at best, but this is even worse and utterly uninvited. And to add insult to injury, the man i love, who just admitted in so many words that he loves me too, is standing only a few feet away. Trent’s lips are dry and hard and when I feel his hands grasp my waist rage builds within me, pumping strength into my arms which I use to shove him off of me.

I barely have a second to take in Trent's befuddled expression and fully take in what just happened before the side of his face is met with a fist, and he falls sideways; his blonde hair whipping across his forehead before his body hits the pavement with a satisfying thud.

“What the fuck!”

My brain is playing catch up with my eyes as I am gaping down at Trent. First the kiss, and then the punch, both seeming to have come out of nowhere... I’m blindsided.

Ron is standing over him, his mouth set in an unyielding line; his chest is rising and falling rapidly and his fists are clenched at his sides.

“You fucking tosser, I should kick you in your bollocks, you bloody wanker... arsehole,” he practically spits at him, his voice low and dripping with venom.

Trent scrambles to his feet, one hand on his jaw and lip; bright red blood is already trickling from the split caused by Ron’s knuckles. He doesn’t hesitate and lunges right at Ron, slamming him flat against the brick wall with his forearm tight underneath Ron’s chin.

“What the hell was that for?” Trent screams in Ron’s face. “Jealous you can’t get a shag now your girl’s ditched you, eh?”

“Fuck you!”

“Stop it, both of you!” I shout at them, but my words fall on deaf ears. And suddenly they are both on the ground struggling to get the upper hand on the other; fists fly and knees jab into stomachs and ribs. It all happens so quickly that for a moment I’m panicked. I look around for help and I want to smack myself: I am a witch, aren’t I? There is no one else around, but a fight going on outside a pub is sure to draw a crowd.

I take my wand out and wordlessly send Trent flying off of Ron and halfway into the street. I use the time it takes him to stagger to his feet to conceal my wand in my pocket and run over to Ron who is already on his feet, staring daggers at Trent. He immediately starts for him again, but I grab his wrist and pull him back against my side.

“Oh, I see what’s going on here,” Tent says as he half saunters, half staggers over to us, wiping his still bleeding lip and flexing his jaw. “You two are shagging.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we are certainly not shagging,” I say hotly. My hand tightens around Ron’s wrist when I feel him trying to wrench it away. “And neither are _we_ ,” I say pointedly. “I don’t know what happened between our time at University and now, but you’ve turned into quite the arse, Trent.”

“At least I’m not a cocktease.”

I gasp and am so offended that I release Ron’s wrist without a second thought. Fast reflexes due to vigorous Auror training helps Ron’s fist find Trent’s stomach with enough speed and accuracy to send Trent on his bum again, and this time he is left gasping for air, the wind knocked clear out of him.

“Fucking... prick...” Trent wheezes through tiny breaths.

Ignoring him, Ron whirls on me, his eyes wild with anger and frustration, and looks over my entire face and then my lips. “I’m sorry. I lost it... Did you want to kiss him? Cos it didn’t look like it from where I stood. Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll leave.”

“You’re not wrong,” I manage to say while shaking my head vigorously. “You can stay with me, at my flat, tonight. If you want.”

His eyes soften and he sighs with relief. His swollen lip curls up into a painful-looking grin as he says, “Cheers. Let’s go, before I hex this fucker into a toad.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dear Lavender, It was a pleasure and a pain to write your POV. Although, it was also a great learning experience, that’s for sure. I hope I did your character justice and gave you the exit you deserved. Sincerely, Jes P.S. I never hated you  
> I couldn’t fit the rest of what I wanted to happen in this chapter without waiting another week to post so the next chapter will be told from both Ron and Hermione’s POV.  
> Thank you for reading and please review!


	9. Part 1: Bed of Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to extend a huge thanks to my gorgeous friend and beta, OtterlyBrilliant. You are amazing!  
> So I have been writing this chapter for days on end and it was getting super long so I decided to split it into two parts. This chapter is the beginning of the end…

My flat is small, but has an open and airy feel with its high ceiling and lack of walls separating the living room from the kitchen (which I rarely ever use). There is a dining area which I have converted into my office. There are only three doors: one to the bathroom, one to my small bedroom and the other leading out to a terrace with just enough room for a chair and a potted plant. It isn’t much, but it’s clean, and safe, and it’s mine. 

I apparate to just inside the front door and, merely out of habit since my brain is somewhere near my stomach, I toe my boots off, then hang my bag on the peg attached to the wall. I take my wand out and light the lamps that flank the sofa. I feel as if I’m on auto-pilot, doing what I usually do when I come home to an empty flat. 

“Nice place.”

“Thanks.”

Right, not empty. Ron is with me. He starts to walk forward and I clear my throat loudly and point at his feet.

“Oh, right, sorry,” he mutters. 

As he kicks off his trainers I walk ahead toward the kitchen where I keep the Essence of Dittany and first-aid supplies underneath the sink. I feel calm at this task and it’s only when I hear him approach that my nerves start to affect me, making me hesitate; my hand around the bottle of dittany is shaking and I place it on the counter with more force than I intended.

“You don’t have to do that,” Ron says, standing next to me, so close I can smell him: soapy skin, alcohol on his breath, and dirt from the pavement. “It’s my fault. Shouldn’t’ve hit him... not that hard, anyway.”

“Why did you?” I don’t want to assume or let on that I know, at least not yet. Not until he’s had a chance to tell me himself.

“He’s a bloody twat that’s why,” he says with a scowl as he takes the Dittany from me and squeezes a few drops on the knuckles of his right hand where the skin had broken open; whether it’s from  Trent ’s face or from their squabble on the ground I’m not quite sure. “Besides, I couldn’t stand there while he had his hands all over you. Didn’t feel right, did I? ”

“I didn’t want him to, you know, kiss me,” I say as I watch his wounds close. “I could have taken care of him myself. You didn’t have to leap in like that and attack him.”

He flexes his fingers to make sure they aren’t any broken bones and, when satisfied, hands me the dropper. “I don’t doubt that, Hermione, on both counts,” he says and crosses his arms over his chest, then slouches with his back against the counter. “I saw you try to push him away and I just snapped, I guess.” He shrugs and rubs his jaw where he is bruised, and I notice scrapes on his cheek and nose.

“He wasn’t always like that.” I squeeze several drops of Dittany on my fingers and continue talking as I apply it to his face, because touching him in silence will ultimately make me want to touch him other places, and there are far too many things we need to discuss before anything like that can happen.

“You mean he wasn’t always a-”

“Yes,” I interrupt him before he could swear again. “Whatever brand of swearing you were going to use to describe him, he wasn’t like that at University. He was... nice. Thoughtful, even.”

Balancing the dittany on the tips of my fingers, I add a layer down the length of his nose. He hisses and when I mend the cut on his jaw I tremble at the feel of short stubble scratching the pads of my fingers as I stroke his skin... He’s looking at me through hooded eyes, and a shiver runs down my spine. And in that one second I want to be completely selfish, to forget about how we hurt each other unintentionally by holding back and never acting on our feelings, on our love that is now so infuriatingly obvious that I wonder how we had lasted this long.

I want to forget how Lavender got caught in the crossfire and what she must be feeling right now. I feel responsible, even though I know, logically, that their relationship, and how it transpired, had nothing to do with me, not really. I never told Ron to get going with her. I never told Lavender to commit to a life with him. I had no idea Ron would express his feelings for me in a letter and a gift that she would inevitably find. A letter that I am so desperate to dig inside his pockets right now and read... I’ve never wanted to read anything so badly in my entire life.

No, my fault was in my absence and silence. I maintained a friendship with Ron and by doing that may have aided in him thinking I had no real feelings for him. I should have came back sooner. I should have discouraged him from continuing on with Lavender, I...  I should have never left. 

And as much as I want to grab Ron by the hair and pull his face toward mine, because he’s so damn close and he’s looking properly open to it, I can’t. There are words that need to be said and misunderstandings to put to rest before anything like that can happen. I need to continue being rational, just a bit longer... I need to keep talking.

I look away quickly, avoiding his eyes as I close the dittany. “Trust me he was, Hermione,” Ron says in a low, serious tone, in reference to  Trent . “Blokes like that, they’re all the same: all manners and sweet talkin’ ‘til they get in your knickers... Did you two ever- I mean, it’s none of my business, sorry.”

“I said it in front of you, didn’t I? I told him he and I would never... do that. Meaning we never _have_.” I take a cloth from the kit and turn my back to him as I run it under some warm water. “That isn’t to say we never came close,” I say in a lower voice, but I can tell he heard me because I hear him inhale sharply from behind me. 

I hadn’t meant to say that last part, but a part of me wants him to know that he isn’t the only one who can garner attention from the opposite sex. It was part of the reason I brought  Trent along to begin with, to make Ron jealous. I’m certainly not proud of that decision, but I can’t deny that it had the desired effect- bloody knuckles aside.

“Is he your... boyfriend, then?” 

I sigh and turn back around to face him again, slightly startled by the intense gaze he’s giving me, as if challenging me to say no. I recognize the irony of his inquisition about my love life, when he has, until just recently, been living with another woman.

I walk up to him and start to wipe his face with the cloth, but it’s too much for me. I can’t have this conversation and be this close to him. And so I hold the damp cloth out for him to take, which he does with what looks like disappointment, apparently hoping I would do it for him. And I wonder what else would he want from me? Would he really try something so soon after finishing with Lavender? I can’t imagine he would, but I also can’t imagine denying him if he did...

“No, he isn’t. Certainly nowhere near as serious as you were with Lavender,” I say firmly and take a step back to stand opposite him with my backside pressed against the edge of the sink. “I never mentioned him because I didn’t think he was important. And he still isn’t.” I shrug and glance at him to gauge his reaction. He’s nodding, but still looks confused. “I didn’t shag him, Ron, alright? We were friends, he wanted more, we kissed a few times, but that was it. Just, stop with all the questions!”

The duality of my emotions are controlling my behavior: I don’t want to be angry with him because of the way he handled Lavender and for not telling me sooner about how he felt. And I also don’t want to give in and give him my full trust and love because of something I overheard, something that hadn’t entirely come from Ron’s mouth. 

I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m tired of the waiting, the secrets, the games... I feel like giving up and going to bed, waiting for tomorrow to do this with him. I’ve waited this long, haven’t I? What’s another night?

But then... that’s the type of thinking that got me in this mess to begin with. I let things happen without voicing my concerns and objecting to the actions of others; both acts that normally do _not_ define me. I feel terrible for even getting on with  Trent , but in a way I’m glad because it was the final straw; the last time I was together with him, and he had his hand halfway down my knickers, helped finalize my decision to come back. But once I got here and saw Ron with Lavender it hurt like hell, but it felt wrong of me to interfere when he seemed so happy, and even worse that I wasn’t the one to make him that way. 

And so that is what happened. I left and, although I have no rights to him, and he has none to me, we are still connected somehow. And now, after all the information I gained tonight, I have the upper hand and can navigate this situation in the way it should’ve happened months ago. I just have to figure out how to go about doing that...

~~~~

** Ron’s POV **

The crumpled up piece of parchment and that damn owl pendant are burning holes in my pockets, pressing in on my conscience; a reminder of what I’ve done to Lavender, but also bringing to the very surface how much I fucking love Hermione. Not that I forgot, of course. But I had gotten used to the idea that it wasn’t gonna happen. I had accepted it, and tried to move on, hadn’t I? But now... I can’t seem to stop staring at her as she moves around the kitchen, talking and avoiding looking at me. 

But when she does catch my eye  it’s like my heart is on fire. The tension between us is like nothing I’d ever felt before. Her glances are lingering and her tone is knowing, but what she knows I’ve no idea. Yeah, she knows Lavender and I are over, but she doesn’t know the reason. And if she had any idea, then she never would’ve invited me over... right?

I can’t begin to hope for anything more than this right here, her friendship, not after all this time. Not after the way I went about this whole mess. And all I ever wanted was to make sure Hermione was happy; I stayed on as friends, I never said anything, and kept on with Lavender to the point of... bloody hell, would I have... married her? No, no fucking way...

And now we’re talking about  Trent- that bloody wanker, with his hands and mouth all over Hermione. I want to break something (like his nose, for example), just thinking about her and him doing... things. My instincts when it comes to Hermione is to react first, think later. But it’s always been like that, hasn’t it?

So she says they hadn’t shagged, and I try not to show the relief and happiness that is bubbling inside my throat, wanting to burst out in a song and dance. I feel like a bloody hypocrite, but it can’t be helped. I shouldn’t be surprised that she wouldn’t just shag anyone. She’s Hermione, with more brains, morality and sense in her big toe than I have in my entire body.

“Yeah, alright,” I say slowly after she’s finished yelling at me to stop asking so many questions, which I hadn’t thought I was, but from her expression I know its best I keep my mouth shut about Trent. Besides, I don’t want to talk about that twat anymore. I’m here, he’s not- probably nursing a sore stomach and a bruised jaw right about now.

“What are you smirking about?” 

“Nothing,” I say right away and shrug.

Hermione’s looking at me as if I’d grown an extra nose.  “I don’t see what could possibly be the slightest bit funny about tonight,” she says, with her hands on her hips and her voice rising. “You broke up with your girlfriend, then got into an all out brawl with someone on the pavement, and were just bleeding all over my just vacuumed carpet!”

I’m thrown... “Vacuumed?” 

“Damn it, Ron!” She lets out a growl of frustration and launches herself from the counter, then smacks me on my shoulder, hard. “You never take anything seriously!” 

“Bloody hell, woman! Sorry, I don’t know what the hell vacuumed meant! Fucking Merlin...” I’m rubbing my shoulder because Hermione, for such a slight girl, has a mean smack. A smack I’ve already been a victim of in the past.

I pause; she hadn’t moved away. In fact, she’s right in my face, red-cheeked and breathing hard through her nose. Her eyes are narrow slits and I can count every eyelash if I wanted to. I can lean in just a few centimeters and my lips will be on hers; it’d be that easy... Yet those centimeters might as well be kilometers from where I’m standing. I suck in a breath and hold it, bracing myself for anything, because who knows what she’s thinking, or why, and what she’ll do or say next? I sure as hell don’t. This night just gets weirder and more fucked up...

“I- I’m sorry,” I mumble, confused about what I’m apologizing for, because I’m clever enough to know she’s angry over more than some muggle device and her carpet. She flinches for a moment and I can see she’s hurt. I’ve hurt her. I don’t know exactly why yet, but I know that it’s because of me, and I want - no I need - to make it better. 

“I’m sorry,” I say again, this time with as much sincerity as I possibly can.

And in an instant I think back to the day she came back, the way we held each other in the kitchen, when we finally talked face to face after so long. She seemed fine then, but there was an undertone of sadness that I thought was from leaving yet another world behind. But then I remember all the quick glances, all the lunch dates we had with Harry, the time we’ve spent together working at the Ministry. My mind flashes to memories of her face whenever she sees me at the pub with Lavender, and whenever I mention her name in conversation. She seems to go rigid as if preparing herself for the worst of something. And it was because of me... 

I remember what my mum said, how Hermione had been writing to her. It was my mum’s advice to leave her alone, and I took that advice to mean it wasn’t worth a shot in the dark. But thinking that now, the way she’s looking at me, as if I could bring her whole world crashing down with one wrong word... if I can have that kind of effect on her, it isn’t all for nothing, is it? This means something. I know it does. It all fits.

“Hermione-”

“Why did you break it off with her?”

“W- What?”

Her expression hasn’t softened one bit. And she is still so close, with me slouched down and hunched over, that her breath is in my face, and I don’t dare move. 

“Tell me what happened with Lavender, Ron,” she says more calmly and takes a step back. I want to reach out and pull her back, into my space again.

I straighten up and rub my neck. I dunno if it’s the right time for this. 

“What d’ya wanna know that for?” I ask, my voice getting tangled in with my nerves. “I told you, we’re finished. End of.”

She’s impatient; she’s shifting her weight from one foot to the other and her arms are tightly crossed against her chest. She’s nervous...

“But why, Ron? When Lavender got angry with you inside the pub, it seemed to come from nowhere. What made her lash out at you like that?” 

Her eyes are unflinching now, steady as a rock, although I can see her jaw moving and her fingers tapping against her arm. She’s waiting for an answer that I’m not sure is even appropriate, given the circumstances. How do I tell Hermione we broke up because of her? That is was because I couldn’t stand to let go of something that was meant for her?

“I... She... She found something,” I say lamely, knowing that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her curiosity. 

I feel like I’m being interrogated the way she’s glaring at me. “What did she find?” she asks, her voice a lot softer than it was before. I feel encouraged by it...

“She found a letter, about someone.” I’m staring back at her silently begging her to understand with just that one phrase, and this one look, who I mean by someone.

“What was the letter about?”

“It was about you, Hermione.” 

And the air changes around us, and I have to keep talking before there is no more left in my lungs to breathe. This is it; do or die, right? Our eyes are still connected as I take a step closer. She takes a step back until she is up against the sink again. 

“About me?” Hermione asks and her breath quickens. “And why were you writing about me, may I ask?”

I nod and I take another step closer. I’m at least a head taller than her, so I lean over until we’re on eye level, my hands gripping the counter on either side of her hips. I lick my lips and her eyes close in a long blink. She takes a deep breath through her nose, and exhales through her mouth as her eyes open slowly. And when her eyes meet mine again, her bottom lip disappears inside her mouth and she’s biting it. Bloody hell, she’s biting her lip, and it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

“Ron?”

I hadn’t realized I was was staring and now my bravado seems to be slipping. “Er...”

“The letter, what did it say?” she asks more pointedly and wraps her arms around her waist.

I stand up straight again and, with shaking hands, reach into my pocket, and yank out the ball of wrinkled parchment.

“Here,” I say with about as much romance and grace as a quaffle.

Hermione snatches it out of my hand, making me jump; and with a furtive glance in my direction she carefully unfolds it as she walks away toward the living room.

As soon as she is out of sight I drop my head in my hands and work on slowing my heart-rate. She’s got it now; the letter is finally in the right hands, and I feel like I’m spinning, It isn’t much, the letter, but it’s enough to let her know how I feel, how I’ve been feeling about her this whole time. But, blimey, there is so much more to tell her. I need to make her understand...

“Hermione, wait.” I catch up to her just as she sat down on the tan sofa facing the fireplace, and grab the letter out of her hands.

“What are you doing?” she shrieks at me, then reaches up to take it back. I don’t reply as I stride over to the fireplace and light it with my wand, then throw the letter in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next chapter will be the last for this story. It will be written all from Ron’s POV.  
> Thank you so much for reading and please review!  
> Where you can find me for a chat/question/what-have-you:  
> Twitter: JesWithOneEss  
> Tumblr: mypatronusisacupcake


	10. Part 2: Bed of Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.

Hermione’s beside me in a flash, horrified. “Why did you do that? I had every right to read what was in that letter! You didn’t have to do that, Ron!” she screams at me, tears rolling down her face.  “I already know... I just wanted to read it for myself, and now I can’t because you’re a … a bloody idiot!”

I’m shocked, both by her words and what I’ve just done, and before I can respond, she pushes me angrily out of her way and turns her back to me. Shit, what’ve I done?

“Hermione, I’m sorry... but I can explain things better than some barmy letter,” I say, pleading to her back, which is trembling. “Well, maybe not. I’m shit with words, but I can try! I just can’t let that be the way. I... I need to do this on my own, without help and... wait. What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything,” she says, without even turning around. But I know she’s lying. I walk up to her and grab her by the elbow. Her eyes flash angrily at me when she twists around; they’re wet with tears and her chin is trembling. She glances at the blackened pile of ash in the fire and sighs as if she just lost something so precious.

“You know... about the letter? But how... I’m confused.”

“Did you mean what you said?” she asks, ignoring my question and confusing me even more. “You want to tell me yourself, what was in that letter?”

“Yeah, I did. I do. I mean, I want to.” How am I supposed to tell her anything when I can’t take my foot out of my mouth?

“Then I’ll tell you everything, as well. I promise. But only after you’ve had your say. Is that fair?”

My hand drops from her elbow and I chuckle, shaking my head at the absurdity of the night and this very conversation. “I have no idea what’s fair anymore, Hermione. I can’t even tell my arse from my head right now, to be honest with you.” Then I’m serious and nod, because her expression is the same as she had in the kitchen, before she hit me. “But yeah, alright. I can do that.”

Hermione seems to relax as she moves around me to sit on the sofa again, with a straight back. And she peers up at me, waiting for me to join her. After taking a deep breath, I sit on the next cushion and then move a bit closer, turning so that my back is against the arm and I’m facing her. She does the same, facing me, and there is no where else to look except at each other.

“Alright, so... okay, do you remember that night at Hogwarts, during the war, before Fred... before he died?”

“I remember everything about that day, Ron,” she says, and then shivers. “Vividly. Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember, after we came back from the Chamber of Secrets, after you killed that Horcrux, and-”

“Ron, where are you going with this?” She trembles and brings her socked feet up on the sofa, wrapping her arms around her bent legs.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bring all this shit up. I don’t want to upset you. I just need to explain what’s going on, and I have to start there. I dunno, just let me get through this, yeah?”

“Fine, continue,” she says with a sigh, and rests her chin on her knees. Okay, I can do this.

“Right. So we were in the Room of Requirement with Harry, and everything was going mad out there, and I said something about the elves or whatever-”

“You said we should save them,” she interrupts and lifts her head. “You didn’t want another Dobby.” She smiles. “I remember thinking how selfless you were and-”

“But there was something... I wanted to- but it looked like you were going to- but then you didn’t...”

“Y-yes. I remember,” Hermione says, then she looks lost in thought. “I wasn’t sure if you had felt it, too. I had a second to decide... I wanted to kiss you, but didn’t know if it was the right time, and Harry was there and the war was going on. I often wonder what would’ve happened had I just taken the risk and just- ” She frowns. “Why didn’t you just kiss _me_? What is wrong with us?”

“I don’t fucking know.” I rub my face and blow out a deep breath, dumbfounded, because I can’t believe she felt the same way this whole time and had I known- But I _did_ know, didn’t I? Deep down inside my gut I had some sort of clue, but was too scared to act on it... and then she left. “We’re both bloody idiots, aren’t we?”

“It does seems that way,” Hermione says grimly, staring down at her hands. We’re both silent for a moment, and I watch as she plays with the hem of her jeans. “I should have never left,” she says quietly.

“I wish you hadn’t, either,” I say, and she finally looks at me, and it feels so fucking good to say it out loud, to her face. “I had no clue how to bring it up, how badly I wanted you to come back... but I was in such a fucked up place with Fred and my family... I figured you wanted to stay away from all the misery, so I shut up about it. But I missed you like hell, Hermione. I was so angry with you for leaving.”

I can feel those old feelings bubbling up again. The ones that I stamped down by telling myself she must’ve had a good reason to have left the way she did, to leave me. I had felt selfish and horrible for feeling an ownership over her, especially since we were nothing more than best mates at the time. But we were, so much more, and I must’ve realized it. We both did, and still she left, and still I let her go.

“I should have been here for you,” Hermione continued,  as my anger and regret doubled over. “But I thought I was doing the right thing, giving you space. I wasn’t in a great place myself, and the last thing you or your family needed was to look after me. I had to get my parents-”

“I would’ve gone with you.”

“I know, and that’s why I left the way I did. Your family needed you, Ron. You needed them.”

“But I _wanted_ you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that before I left? Why didn’t you write me to come back?”

“What was I supposed to say? Come back so I can cry on your shoulder so then you can be just as miserable as I am? That I missed you like hell, and I wish I had kissed you that night? That I -” There’s a lump in my throat when I realize what I just said out loud, and what I almost said, and I’m panicking.

“Yes!” Hermione cries, and grabs my forearm. Her palm is cool against my warm skin, and the contact is making me mental. My eyes are itching and I inhale a shuddering breath, willing myself to calm down... “Exactly like that! Because I did want to kiss you that night! And I would have come back in a heartbeat had I any indication you wanted me, too. But you let on that things were going well without me.”

I’m frustrated. How could I have been so stupid? How could she, Hermione, of all people, be this daft? I’m shit when it comes to feelings, but isn’t she supposed to get these things? “I didn’t need or want your pity, Hermione. You seemed happy and were better off without me, yeah? Isn’t that the real reason you left? I was too much to handle with a dead brother and all that. I was a sodding mess.”

“That is not true at all. Did you really think that?” Her grip on my arm slackens, and I feel bile rise up in my throat to join the lump already there.

“I used to, now I’m not so sure. Still, you left because of me, for whatever reason-”

“And I’ve regretted it! Don’t you see? And I came back, despite all of it. For you! Besides, you had Lavender...”

“Yeah, I did. And I fucked that up, too,” I say, the mention of Lavender’s name pulling me back to reality. I stare down at Hermione’s hand still atop my arm, with its small tapered fingers and unpolished nails. Lavender has about every shade of color to cover hers. I doubt Hermione owns one bottle of that smelly stuff... “Her parents, they died during the war, and we sort of connected that way, I guess. We helped each other. But I never meant to- I never set out to hurt her. It all just- happened.”

I see her hands tighten once more around my arm. “Well, I’m grateful she was there for you, really I am. I just wish I was the one to... to be with you.” I catch her eye, and before I can say anything she takes a deep breath and continues talking rapidly, “I heard you and Lavender outside the pub. You were talking about the letter and the pendant, about _me_. And she said you never told her you loved her. And you said you wanted to do the right thing. And those awful things she said to you. She was so angry and I felt so badly for her. And you’re still not very good with your words, Ron. Honestly, you have to work on that.”

I moan loudly to keep her from talking and sag heavily against the back of the sofa. I can’t hear anymore of this. I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’m reliving that botched up break-up all over again through Hermione’s eyes, and I’m mortified, but also a bit hacked off. I sit up suddenly and glare at her. “Are you fucking kidding me? You saw all of that? Blimey, Hermione. Where were you? Hiding out somewhere?”

She bites her lip and looks at me guiltily. “Disillusionment charm. I was hiding in a doorway,” she says with her head down, then looks up at me with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really I didn’t. Well, maybe I did a bit, but I was only going out for some air. Then I saw the two of you, and didn’t want to interrupt. But then I heard her say my name, and I had to know what was going on. I’m so sorry.”

I let out a snort of laughter, because really- could this night get any more weird?

“You’re not upset?” she asks timidly, and I stare at her as if she’s gone mad.

“Fuck it all, I dunno,” I sigh heavily, and I sit forward with my elbows on my knees. “I dunno what the hell I’m doing anymore.” She slides closer to me, our thighs now touching, and her hand is on my arm again. I can feel her looking at me, and out the corner of my eye, I see her head cocked to the side and her bushy ponytail hanging over her shoulder. But I can’t look at her.

“Ron, look at me.” She’s adopted her no-nonsense tone, which makes me turn, whether I want to or not. I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks and ears because she’s gazing at me so intently, making sure that what she says next I will know to be the absolute truth. “I don’t care. I’m sorry, but... I don’t care about any of that. I am so sick of caring!” She stands up and my eyes follow her; she looks fit to burst. “I don’t- I don’t _want_ to care anymore! For so long I thought I was doing the right thing. And here you thought you were doing the right thing, and we’re both stupid for it! I worried myself sick about you, and this whole time you- you...”

“I love you.”

She stops and we’re staring at each other, stunned. Holy fuck, did I just say that out loud? I mean, it’s been talked around this entire time, and she must know already...

“You love me...”

Not the response I was hoping for.

“What are you so scared of?” Hermione asks, and her hand is shaking as it reaches out and strokes the lining of my jaw. I probably should’ve shaved after my shower today, but she seems to like it, and I can’t help but compare her reaction to Lavender’s who used to complain of its scratchiness.

“I’m not scared,” I say unconvincingly. “It’s just... you didn’t-”

“I love you, too,” she says in one fast breath.

“Shit.” Not my best moment, but better than most, I reckon.

She laughs and tears are pooling in her eyes as she shakes her head at me. “Ron...”

“I know, sorry. I’m not the best at this sort of thing,” I say, and I rub the back of my neck nervously.

Suddenly, I’m pushed back against the sofa; Hermione’s face is only a few centimetres away, and it finally feels more than possible that this could be actually be happening. I’d wanted this for so long, and had I known...

My hand, usually too large and clumsy, finds the back of her neck so swiftly that its like it has a mind of its own, and I’m pulling her roughly to me, closing those centimetres into nothing. Our lips crash together and we gasp, our mouths opening and tongues reaching and swirling over the other’s. I don’t know when, but she had found her way into my lap, straddling me, and she’s squirming, and it’s all so much at once. My hands, still of its own accord, apparently, are cupping her arse and squeezing her through her tight jeans, pulling her in closer. I can’t get enough.

I want to touch every part of her; I want to taste everything I’ve missed out on for long because we were both too stupid to say or do anything. And if her frenzied hands on my chest and back are anything to go by, she’s feeling the exact same way.

“Oh, god... Ron,” she mumbles, and then she gasps as she links her fingers together behind my neck and pulls her lower half in closer; my hands are on her back, helping to pin our chests together. “Oh, Ron, you feel so good. I always imagined...”

“Shit, Hermione. For how long? Tell me, please,” I murmur, before her long and beckoning neck is engulfed in my kisses and my tongue is leaving a trail of wetness behind, and fuck everything else because this feels so fucking _right_.

“Since... oh-” She shudders and wraps her arms more securely around my shoulders, her tits smashing into my chest. “I dunno, third year? Fifth? Who cares?” She drops her forehead, pressing her nose against my neck under my ear.

“Damn, that’s a long time. I’ve loved you for just as long, maybe longer. I dunno. Fuck, you smell brilliant.”

My hands are on her bare back, under her blouse, fingers grazing her bra as I continue my attack on her neck and collarbone. I’m so hard, and I’m trying not to thrust upwards, but with her gyrating over me, I’m finding it bloody difficult to think of anything else.

“Hermione, wait... Stop for a second.”

“What? What is it? Why’d you stop?” She sits up and there’s a halo of frizz around her head, and her ponytail is loose (I don’t even remember doing that.). Her eyes are bright and wide and her chest is heaving with quick breaths. She’s swallowing thickly, panting, and her lips are pink and swollen from mine...

My voice is low and comes out in a way that makes her sigh, and then she bites her lip again. Sod it.

“Nothing, c’mere.”

I grab her face, covering her flushed cheeks with my hands, and I pull her in again to a searing kiss. I want to throw everything else from my mind: Lavender, my mum’s words of advice, worrying about how soon all of this is happening, protocols and proper waiting periods between an ex and a new... girlfriend? Is that what Hermione is now? My girlfriend? Do we have to put on labels and say it out loud? Isn’t saying ‘I love you’ enough to be getting on with? Does she expect something more? Some sort of declaration before we-

There’s a ripping sound that jolts me out of my thoughts. Hermione had leaned away from me and I feel a draft across my chest: She’s used her wand to rip my shirt clear off of me.

“What- What did you do?” I ask, bewildered and amused.

“I do believe I’ve gone mental, haven’t I?” Hermione says with a laugh, and throws my ruined shirt over her shoulder.

I slide my hands up her sides and back down again, reveling in the _feel_ of her. The image of Hermione sitting on top of me with her wild hair and eyes, cute up-turned nose, and pink cheeks making the spatter of freckles across them more pronounced, takes my breath away.

“Maybe a bit mental, yeah,” I say with a grin. “But that’s why I love you, innit?”

She leans forward and kisses me hard on the mouth, holding her lips there and exhaling through her nose. I squeeze her to me and press back, giving her everything I have inside of me through that one kiss. When she pulls away, it’s quick, and we’re both out of breath as she holds her wand out for me to grab and says, “Here, you do it. I’m too nervous.”

I take it and, confused at first, ask, “Do what?” She gives me a look. “Oh! Oh, right... Are you sure? I mean, bloody hell. Seriously?”

“Yes,” she says impatiently and blows a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Before I change my mind.”

“If you’re gonna change your mind, then maybe we shouldn’t-”

“I’m not going to change my mind!”

“But you just said-”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ron.”

She scrambles off my lap and snatches her wand from my hand. I’m too stunned to protest, and instead, I watch in awe as she takes a long steadying breath before she closes her eyes, points her wand at her abdomen and mutters a spell. After tossing her wand to the floor she starts unbuttoning her jeans and I have to gulp in order to get air into my lungs.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yes, I know,” Hermione says with a nervous laugh. She’s still short of breath as she pushes her jeans down her tanned and shapely legs that meet at her center, which is covered in a pair of silky-looking dark blue knickers.

When she walks back to me I tilt my head back so that I can look up at her face. I move to the edge of the sofa and stop her, my hands on her hips, fingers on the edge of her knickers. The feel of her warm skin and cool fabric is doing my head in. I lower my gaze, and her fingers are in my hair as the heat from between her legs radiates off my chin.

“Oh, sweet Merlin,” I moan, and close my eyes, leaning in blindly to kiss the sliver of skin between her shirt and knickers. Fingernails are scratching my scalp, and I moan again, taking her shirt in my teeth and pulling it away from her, opening my eyes to watch it snap back against her belly. “I want you so fucking bad, Hermione. Are you sure you want this? Do you really want me? For keeps?”

“For keeps, yes.” I look up at her again, and she’s smiling widely down at me. I let go of the guilt, the uncertainty and the cowardice that held me back for so long, and I smile back, just as happily. Her hands leave my hair and grab the hem of her blouse, pulling it up and over her head. Her bra is a plain white cotton; they don’t match her knickers and for some odd reason that makes my heart soar. I’m reminded of Lavender’s underthings (that she insists are called lingerie), and how tight and uncomfortable they looked on her, how they always had to match.

I shake my head to clear it of anything but Hermione, of us. I lean in again and press my lips to her naked stomach, over her belly button. She sucks in a sharp breath, and it concaves, so I lean in more, using my hands on the small of her back to keep her still. Her hands are braced on my shoulders, and I can feel her entire body quivering. I see her legs shaking; she struggles to remain upright as I kiss all over her stomach, running my tongue up the center to the bottom edge of her bra.

“Ron... I can’t stand it,” she says, her short nails digging into my shoulders, eyes closed and a grin on her face.

I stand up, and she doesn’t move to allow me room, so as we stare into each other’s eyes, with my hands are at the button of my jeans, my newly healed knuckles bump into the front of her knickers. With her hands holding onto my biceps, I purposely drag the zipper down with the back of my hand pressed firmly into her.

“Ahh... Ron...”

Hermione bends forward with me as I push my trousers down to my ankles and step out of them. And then we’re both standing in her living room wearing only our underwear. We start laughing together, which seems to break the tension, and all of a sudden I’m picking her up by her waist, dragging her up off her feet and kissing her. We’re laughing into each other’s mouths as her legs go around my waist.

I stop, my hands under her arse, holding her up, and ask, “Wait, so you’ve never... you know?”

She looks taken aback by the question, but I have to make sure. Then she shakes her head and says, “No, I haven’t.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! Why is that so hard to believe? Do I have ‘slag’ written across my forehead? I do have standards, thank you very much.” She’s laughing, but I can see she’s nervous, which means she’s telling the truth. Blimey.

“And I don’t?”

“I- I never said that. I just meant that I wasn’t in a serious relationship, so therefore didn’t want to-”

“Hermione, I’m taking the piss.”

She groans and rolls her eyes before taking my head in her hands. “No more talking, agreed?”

And we’re kissing again, more frantically than before, but now my mind is reeling with the idea of taking Hermione’s virginity. I admit I hadn’t wanted to think about her and another bloke going at it because when I did, I wanted to vomit, but she’s just said she’s never... fucking hell. How is this possible? She’s beautiful, and brilliant, and so fucking kind. And that arse Trent had tried to... Right, don’t think about that right now.

I stumble backwards, and my grip on her tightens.

“No, the bedroom,” she sighs against my lips, and it’s like my blood is boiling and racing through my body. I turn us around and walk towards one of the closed doors, but we don’t make it before I slam her against a wall and my hands are everywhere. Hermione is gasping and moaning like no tomorrow, and it’s turning me on like nothing else.

“Bedroom, Ron,” she manages to say as I leave her mouth to suck on her earlobe.

“Right, sorry.”

I pick her up again, her knickers sliding under my palms, and make her squeal as I kick open the nearest door. Luckily there’s a bed in this one. It’s dark, but in the second before I throw her down on her large bed that takes up most of the room, and with the light from the living room flooding in, I can make out a large window with the white curtains drawn, a bookshelf stuffed with books (no surprise there), and a dresser topped with more books and frames of moving and stationary photos; no make-up or smelly perfumes. It’s Hermione, and it’s fucking perfect.

Hermione’s body bounces against the bed, and for half a second, I feel bad for wrinkling her crisp white sheets. But then, with a wickedly sexy smile, she reaches behind her and throws some pillows on the floor. She drags herself further up the bed, and I raise my brow and climb up the bed to join her. My heart is beating out of my chest, and when I slide my hand up from her stomach to between her tits, I can feel her heart beating just as fast.

“This is gonna be fucking wicked,” I say out loud, and cringe before Hermione starts laughing at me.

“I have no doubt,” she says through her smile. “Now get down here already.”

“Right. No more talking.”

I lay my fingertips on her lips and trace the smile that hasn’t left since we first kissed. And I use this second to take all of her face in, the way she’s staring up at me with trust and love in her eyes. Then my desire takes over, and I kiss her again, taking my time to really taste her and listen to every sound she makes. Every moan and gasp fills the space that I had left for her, hoping she’d return, and then wishing I had a chance to tell her, really show her, how I feel. And now I have her, and I’m full enough to burst.

She’s so bloody soft, and I want to be gentle, but the passion between us is so overwhelming that every time she rubs my back or her nails scrape down my arms, I grab at her hips, her thighs, her tits...

Hermione lifts her chest up to mine and I reach around to unclasp her bra, which comes loose with a snap. And when she falls back onto the bed, her tits are exposed, small dark nipples, hard, and entirely too tempting. I don’t hesitate to take one into my mouth while kneading the other, and they both fit perfectly in my mouth and my hand. Her fingers are in my hair almost immediately, her hands pressing down on my head. I’m lost in the taste of her until she presses down harder, and I grin when I realize what she wants. And whether or not she’s had it done to her before, I don’t fucking care because my lips, and my hands, will be the only ones to ever touch her again.

“Mmmm... yessss,” Hermione hisses as my mouth descends between her legs, sucking her through her knickers. “Off... now.”

“Bossy in bed, too,” I mutter. “Good to know.”

Hermione starts to take her knickers off, but I brush her hands aside and peel them down her legs, waggling my brows at her. She covers her face with her hands, and she groans and laughs simultaneously. I’ve never seen her like this before, nervous and giddy all at once, and it’s doing my head in.

“Relax,” I whisper and she nods, then drops her hands, revealing a very red face, and there’s that smile again...

And she tastes so fucking sweet, and wet, and slick with want. I keep her legs steady with both hands on her inner thighs as I bring her up and through an orgasm that makes her entire body tremble, and she cries out so loudly that I fear the neighbour one floor above us or below can hear. But then her body sags into the mattress and I lift my head, rubbing my aching jaw.

“That was... brilliant,” she says, breathlessly, and holds her arms out for me. I sit up and, not looking away from her flushed cheeks and sweaty brow, I take my pants off. Then, careful not to crush her, I fall into her open arms, settling my body between her legs, which she wraps around my waist, still shaking.

When I enter her, it isn’t swift and fast, but inch by inch, until I’m encased in her warmth. Once again, a perfect fit. Of course...

“Oh my god,” she says, her voice catching, and when I look at her, tears are falling over the sides of her cheeks into her hair.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just...” She starts crying even more and struggles to catch her breath, then sputters out, “Sorry, it’s just that- I love you... so much.”

I’m staring down at her, stunned, as she starts laughing and covers half her face with one hand, her body now shaking beneath me with sobs and laughter.

I drop my head into the crook of her neck and laugh along with her. Then, not all that surprisingly, I realize my own eyes are wet against her skin. I’m fucking crying.

“Completely mental,” I mutter and she’s laughing again. “I love you, too, you barmy girl.”

I thrust into her once and that seems too calm her down a bit as her nails dig further into my back, and she sucks in a sharp breath. I move again, and again, and with each push and pull, her breathing becomes more and more labored, and her hands slide lower until she’s at my hips, urging me to go faster.

I want to make it last for her, make it special, but she’s gyrating like mad under me, crying out, and when I kiss her, she bites and drags my bottom lip through her teeth, and I’m fucking gone. I pump harder and faster, and she’s going mental with her chin in the air, and she looks so damn close...

“Fuck... I’m gonna cum,” I pant.

“Let go, Ron. Oh god!” Hermione’s arms fly around my neck, and she pulls me down on top of her, flush against her skin so I feel our sweat sliding between us, and her tits are squashed against my chest. And still moving at a speed that is making the bed bang against the wall, I spill into her. I’m frozen for a moment before I slow to a stop. Then, as gently as possible, I let my body collapse on top of hers.

I rub my face into Hermione’s neck, under her chin, as her fingers, which I’d wager were magical in and of themselves, stroke my hair off my sweaty forehead. I swear to Merlin, I could sleep for days if it weren’t for her heart pounding so hard I can feel it thumping against mine.

“Thank you,” I say, then prop myself on one elbow to look down at her. She looks at me with a dreamy expression, her eyes still wet and her hair sticking to her cheeks, and I’ve never felt happier, or luckier, in my life.

“For what, exactly?”

“For waiting for me. I wish I had done the same.” My smile slips and her hand is on my cheek.

“Forget it,” she says sternly, her smile gone. “No more of this ‘should have’ or ‘could have’ nonsense. We’re both responsible for our parts in this, and I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for leaving, but... we’re together now, and I’ve waited far too long to waste time wallowing in what-ifs... Can we at least try?”

I nod, and tell myself not to fucking cry, you prat.

“Yeah, we can do that.”

Her smile returns. “Sorted.”

I chuckle to myself, and when she gives me a curious look, I say, “You do realize there will probably be a party of some sort to celebrate this?”

“I’ll owl Molly in the morning,” she says without hesitation, and I fall in love all over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I saved my notes for the end so I wouldn’t interrupt the flow of the story. Also, because it is super duper extra long. You’ve been warned!
> 
> So, this is the end, folks! Ron and Hermione are together, as they should be, proving that no matter what, or who, gets in the way (even themselves) they belong together, and they will always be together in the end. (is that enough commas? I don’t think so…,,,)
> 
> I want to thank my beta, OtterlyBrilliant, who is brilliant, funny, and a truly beautiful person, inside and out! She helped me with the later chapters, when things really went down, and I honestly couldn’t have gone through all those emotions, which Ron and Hermione put all of us through, without her. Tara, you are the BEST! And I love you so very much!
> 
> And lastly, I’d like to thank TMBlue! She actually beta’ed this chapter for me when Hedwigshero couldn’t, and she’s also the reason why it is being updated at 2am, lol! TM, it has been an astounding pleasure getting to know you. To call you my friend still makes me fangirl like no one’s business! Lol But even more than that, to have you read my work and then go through it with your level of talent… there are no words.
> 
> I will be writing for my other chaptered story, Look at Me, in a few days! So if you haven’t read it, please know that, first, there is no Lavender (lol), and second, I adore writing it as it follows along with DH. So please, check it out! I will update that story regularly until it is finished.
> 
> You can vote for a few of my stories that have been nominated over at romioneawards . tumblr . com!
> 
> My Twitter: JesWithOneEss  
> My Tumblr: mypatronusisacupcake
> 
> Thanks for reading and please, review!


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